UNCLE!

My husband is the best at uncling. He's a professional. He's been doing it a lot longer than I've been aunting. I know I drive him crazy sometimes. As the oldest of 4, I can be a bit...directive. Luckily he's the youngest of 3 and is patient and accepting.
Most of the time.
I know I can be a...lot. Energetically. I also know I'm a real lucky lady.
He's been helping me balance some intense excitement and insecurities lately.
They pushed back the notification date for the episodic lab at The Orchard Project, where my pilot is being considered. And I feel a bit like I'm being tortured. It would be such an incredible experience, and I've got nothing definite on the horizon to look forward to.
It's exciting and terrifying to be back in pursuit of work again. This field is fickle and fierce and the work fleeting. I remember the relentless rejection and my reasons for the hiatus pre-grad school, but I feel very hopeful and motivated to work and confident in the opportunities to come.
In one way or another.
I've been babysitting again. And still on the fence about makin my own.
Jake (the husband) is the best at practicing non-attachment.
I am...learning.
The only thing I want or can think about is getting this writing opportunity. It is so close, I can taste it. I may just enter another competition if this one doesn't come through. I actually had an acquaintance win the Comedy Series screenwriting competition for the ITVFest. A friend on the Facebooks who seems like just the kindred spirit I'll need to reach out to when I get the news either way. Inspired to enter this contest if I'm an Orchard reject, anyway, so it was a comforting consolation to come across her blog today.
That's what we do.
Relentless action against rejection.
Feels Sisyphean. Like the battle to be waste free in the presence of those who are not concerned. Or eat well in the presence of those who make different decisions.
But Sisyphus was happy, no?
That's how it ends.
You live and then ya die. You try until ya don't.
So I guess a Masters of Fine Art has made me a professional waiter. No, not like a restaurant server. (Though you never know what kind of side gig I'll get.) Like one who waits. Professionally. Perpetually. It's hard for folks to accept this as a profession. My grandma and sisters and parents ask after every audition, "So, when will you hear?"
That is a great question.
The answer is always maybe soon and probably never so hopefully they'll outgrow the constant inquiry.
Luckily, my husband is not one of those folks. He believes in me, but remains unattached to any ideal life or high hope I have in mind. I've been to yoga nearly everyday for 2 weeks, mindfully breathing deep and moving my body, and practicing contentment, but he just has it. He strives to do his best, and he's cool with just that.
But I want to do better.
I know it can be exhausting. I can be exhausting. But if I want to sleep at night, I have to do the very best I can. Which is a moving target.
Because I believe it should be.
But knowing when to let go? To just be instead of do? I have trouble. I get that it's important. It's why I need to practice yoga. It's far less about the action than it is about the inaction of the practice.
Walking with our 2 year-old niece today in the park was so sweet. I found contentment easy then, but now as she naps and we TCB online, the ol' ache is back.
The fantasizing. The chase. The hunt. The waiting.
UNCLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!