At a nearby park.
My oldest daughter got her first, paid, acting gig. Once she gets paid, she gets to join AGVA, a bona fide actors union with benefits. It's been a tense week since her audition - she was so afraid she wouldn't get it. She auditioned for the same part last year and didn't make it, but I had a good feeling this time. No anxiety over how her self esteem would handle another rejection (why do people with shaky self-esteems always seem to choose professions like acting?)
In any case, I was in awe of her courage - where did she get the self-confidence to put herself out there that way? To put away the defenses and masks she has acquired over the years and let her best self shine through? What a strong, vulnerable thing to do. It's not that I am surprised she could do this, it's that I'm surprised I raised someone who could. How did she learn such bravery from me, who put on her masks long ago and never took them back off?
Then I realized that she has watched me be brave and strong in other areas. She's watched me try to start two businesses and work like a dog over them. She's watch me have to fight like hell to get her and her sibs the care and treatment they need for years. She watched me lose eighty pounds and bounce back from a couple near-death hospital experiences, only to be cheerful and pragmatic about the next one. And she's seen me be the backbone of this family, the strength for everyone else when they couldn't find their own.
That's a nice thing to realize. I'm reminded of the way she has always watched me, all her life. The way she would study me when she was little, the way she would try to be my opposite in her teens, but always, always watching. I was so afraid that she would learn to be afraid of life, because I always have been, but she saw something else and took that, instead. I just fucking love my beautiful, strong, discerning kid, you know?
