WEEDS… more gardening metaphors!

Procrastination is a weed in my garden of projects. And clutter is catnip to my procrastination. 

The calendar says to start writing at 10am. I’m doing well with time, enjoying a nice unhurried breakfast and savoring my second bowl of cafe au lait. I wash up and make my bed– a rebellious act of self care– which is when I notice the sun hitting the fire escape perfectly. Perfect for laying my sneakers out to dry. But first I have to wash them. Yes, this very moment. It’s a legit task on the long weekend To Do list, why quibble about the timing. Plus the shoes have been cluttering up the hallway– where I’d left them, as an obnoxious reminder to deal with the scuffs and city soot. Which reminds me, I should finally wash that cashmere scarf that’s been hanging over the bedroom door for… there’s really no excuse for how long. SOAK is a dream product, all I have to do is leave the item to soak for 20 min, squeeze out the water and lay or hang it to dry. I receive zero compensation for sharing, but how can I not scream the praises of a product that literally makes hand washing a thing of the past?? Anyways, now that I’ve digressed from my digression, let me get to the point.

In the quest to cultivate my garden of artistic expression and thriving wellness, I must be vigilant about weeds. Ridding myself of negative self talk is like a game of Wack a Mole– sabotaging thoughts proliferate like dandelions and their wiliness demands brute force. Despite my proficiency and longevity in the acting game, the nightmare of being naked in front of an audience is both literal and metaphorical. The famous allegory taunts me from time to time; are my talents spun from invisible thread and can everyone see? Recently this weedy thought choked an opportunity to audition for a NY theatre company. A thousand valid excuses prompt me to decline the appointment. I’ve since tilled that fallow patch of insecurity. A sprinkle of facts to battle the weeds of doubt. When I keep my focus on what is, I’m less likely to stray to the doom sphere of imagination.
Ironically, actual nudity is less daunting now that I’ve spent decades making peace with my body. Not that I’m anticipating any requests for nudity now I’ve passed the ingenue stage, although Geena Davis‘ data says different. 

There are many varieties of weeds but social media is particularly insidious. It’s like a field of poppies, luring me to lie down and drift away. By design these apps are addictive; this is not breaking news, or even a headline but my antidote might be.

A few years ago I worked with a young actor who had been challenged by their sister to have only 5 minutes of Instagram a day. Impossible! Clearly they weren’t posting. Not true. We worked together for a week and I witnessed their engagement daily. They were specific and intentional every time they opened up the app. They scrolled or they posted, one or the other. They were fully in control of that five minutes. This is my mission. Five minutes a day. Short of cold turkey I can’t conceive of a way to manage these algorithms designed expressly to keep me fiending for my Feed. It’s a weedwacker of a solution but these are desperate times. Deadlines are looming. Stay tuned for updates.