wasted.

“Follow your dreams.”

“Do what you love.”

“Find your passion.”

This is just a taste of the things I've heard throughout my life—the way I've been programmed to live out my days.

Recently, I realized that it is this manner of thinking that has made me feel like an absolute failure for the majority of my life.

I always feel restless. I mean, always. I feel as though I've got some giant purpose that I’m supposed to be living out, and I’m not doing it, and I have to be doing it, or my entire life will have been a waste! Right??

I love to perform. I have never felt more at home than when I am on a stage. Singing gives my heart the kind of joy that makes sorrow a memory far-gone. Acting excites me to my core, gives me a kind of energy that is impossible to explain to someone who has never experienced it. When I stand on a stage, and I feel the heat of the lights on my face…when I feel the hushed energy of the audience as I open my mouth to speak, or sing…I belong. I feel out of place in my own skin, yet a stage is home.

I was an English major for a semester in college. I planned on teaching high school English. It was a practical choice, one that would be easily attainable, and provide a relatively comfortable lifestyle. But, dear God, I was so bored. It took six weeks for me to realize that this was not what I wanted—that my “calling” was not to teach children proper grammar, or to grade papers, or to spend my life catering to the state’s educational standards. Nothing against English teachers, or teachers in general—some of my closest friends are teachers, and I have the utmost respect for what they do and believe they are positively brilliant—but it wasn’t for me. My spirit was not at peace in the English department.

When I found Theatre, well…suddenly I was alive. Every inch of my body suddenly woke up and said, “Oh. Finally.”

I honestly didn't know anything about theatre. At my high school, we were only ever offered a chance to participate in One Act Play (a UIL competition which, at least at my school, was a joke compared to doing actual theatre), and while I excelled as an actress, I had no idea the intricacies that were involved in putting together a real production. I had to learn everything technical from scratch. All I had was my natural talent, which was acknowledged quickly by people who then helped me transform it into a real, fulfilling skill.

I don’t know how my parents felt about me pursuing acting at first. When I changed my major, I called my mother and told her. I never asked for permission. I just did it. She supported me, but I often wonder what she and my father were really thinking. Perhaps they thought I was wasting my time even going to college at all. I don’t know.

What I do know is that for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel restless. I had something to do every single day that made me feel like I mattered. I knew the direction I was headed, and I liked it. My years in the theatre program at SFA were the most content I've ever been, purpose-wise.

Fast forward three years. I move to Dallas, Texas. Dallas, with its beautiful skyline and bouncing energy. There is quite a large theatre scene in Dallas, which is something most people don’t know. New auditions pop up weekly. There’s always a new show to go see.

But did I take advantage of any of this? Nope.

I didn’t go on my first audition until I’d been in Dallas for six months. Six.

My next audition after that didn’t happen for another year.

I’ve auditioned a grand total of five times in the two years I’ve been here, a fact that makes me sick to my stomach, quite literally.

I’m not scared of rejection, you know. It comes with the territory of being an actor—even if you’re talented, there is always a chance that the director is looking for someone with a specific quality that you don’t have. It is also has a lot to do with who you know, so until you get “in,” it’s difficult to break through. I understand these things. I accept them. I don’t fear them, and I don’t take them personally.

But it is fear that has been holding me back. And until tonight, I was unable to pinpoint what exactly that fear is about.

It’s not rejection. It’s failure.

There is a difference between the two. Rejection is temporary. Failure…well, that’s a life washed down the drain.

I have put my hopes and my dreams of performing at the forefront of my identity for so long, that the pressure seems to have almost suffocated me.

“This is who I am. I am a performer. Forget anything else about my character that makes me Erin. Performing is it. I have to put all my eggs in that basket, and if it doesn’t work, then I am an absolute waste of space, and all who know me will be disappointed.”

And there it is. I’m not worried about the sting of rejection for myself. I’m worried about disappointing the people who believe in me. I don’t ever want to feel again the way I felt when I heard my father say that he’d be proud of me only when I was actually using my degree.

It’s too much pressure.

I want to perform because I love it. Because there is something within me, something that God put into my being that screams to be onstage.

I don’t want to perform merely because I have a degree in Theatre.

And anyway, my identity is not solely comprised of my love of performing. There are so many things that I am passionate about.

I love people. And I love love. I love to love people, and I think I do that pretty well. My friends mean the world to me, and I hope I show them that. My family is my one earthly constant—the people who I know will always love me, even if they drive me crazy with questioning my marital status, and I drive them crazy with my “bleeding-heart liberal” talk. Meeting new people is one of the most exciting parts of my day—I will often awkwardly blurt out, “Hey, who are you?” by way of introduction. And. I. Love. It.

I adore traveling. If I could travel constantly, I would. My heart longs to discover new places, and experience new things, and I’ve seen more sights than most people my age (at least, that I’ve met). So hey, there’s another thing I do well.

I love writing. I somehow am able to communicate the things I hold in my heart, in my mind--through words. This is a gift that most people (I am learning) do not have. The keyboard of my computer is another home for me, though it is one I don’t visit enough.

I actually enjoy my day job. Heaven forbid an actor actually enjoy the work that they’re supposed to do simply to sustain themselves! I like it. Accounting isn’t exciting, but I’m good at it. And the people I work with are phenomenal.

I am passionate about my church. My young adult ministry has brought me some of the best friends anyone could ever ask for, and I absolutely love serving in any capacity. I don’t do it out of some sense of obligation. I do it because I sincerely believe in what our ministry stands for. And I love the people (heyyy, there’s a theme).

I love my Jesus. I am finally getting to a place where I am hungry for His word, thirsty for His love…and jumping at the chance to share that love with other people. I am seeking him wholeheartedly, and honestly, that is where the biggest part of my identity lies. I am a child of the One True King, and there is nothing I could do to make him less proud of me.

So, I haven’t been on a stage—an actual, theatrical stage—in nearly two and a half years.

It’s stupid. But I know the reason now.

I plan on chasing the dreams that I’ve been called to. I am going to go to those auditions, no matter how sick I get beforehand. Because I’m not going to let that fear rule me.

But before I do, you should know—I am NOT any less of a person for having waited this long. My life is not a waste. Not a single second of it has been wasted.

I’m living. And I love to live. Regardless of whether I have a real acting career, or pursue acting as a hobby while working in the accounting department for my company, I am living fully.

God gives me a purpose, gives my life meaning, every single day.

I’m not apologizing anymore, especially for something as insignificant as not using my degree.

I am following my passions, and it doesn’t matter to me whether you—other people—see it or not.

I see it.

And I won’t hate myself anymore.