Sallyacious

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September 13, 2006

Like a Fine Wine...

For those of you keeping score at home, I will be 39 on Saturday.

Thirty-nine.

Just typing that is an act of bravery for me because in my business, admitting my actual age is like signing my creative death warrant. Nobody wants to work with an actor in her forties. They barely tolerate actors in their 30's. We've lost our ripe, potentially viriginal lushness. And though we've gained so much more in terms of experience, ability, skill, technique, women in their 40's are not good for anything except playing people's mothers.

Of course I think that's bullshit. Michelle Pfeiffer is no less interesting or talented than she was when she did Ladyhawke. In fact, she's probably a great deal moreso and I'm really looking forward to her work in Stardust when it comes out next spring. But in an industry where looks are paramount, she's not as desirable.

So even though I know I have so much to offer as an actor, I feel I'm going to have to work harder just to get people to even consider me for work. Because I'm "too old." People, as a performer, I'm just getting started. I'm capable of so much more than I was fifteen years ago.

Which brings me to my other concern about being in the final year of my thirties. I'm behind. I know I've discussed this here before, but that was just about acting. I'm behind in so many other ways as well.

Let me explain.

When I was in my early twenties, I met a friend of my mom's who had done all kinds of things in her life. It had not been an easy life, and I would certainly not want to trade places with her, but she knew so much stuff. She did most of the construction on her home herself, for instance.

Which was really the thing that got to me. Because I'd only recently graduated from college (the first time) and was in the middle of the awful, frustrating day job that is the single longest course of employment I've had to date (4.5 years) and was ending a painful, twisted, emotionally abusive relationship. My self-esteem was pretty much at rock bottom. I couldn't find any talents or abilities that set me apart from, well, dirt, really. (At this point, I had no idea I was an actor. If, at 24, someone had told me I was an actor, that I would be making money at it by the time I was 27, I would have suggested they needed to lie down.)

So to know that Lorraine, at 45, had sided her own house? That blew me away. Here she is, at twice my age, and she's so capable. My first reaction was, typically, "Man. I can't do anything." And then I thought, "Hold on. In the last 24 years, I've learned to walk, talk, read, write, drive, figure a tip and/or sales tax, type and think critically. She's had twice as much time as I have. I've figured out the basics. I have time now to add everything else."

Fifteen years ago, I figured I had all kinds of time to learn the list of things I wanted/needed to learn by the time I was 40.

I just realized I haven't even learned half of it, and I've got slightly more than a year to cram. I am so far behind.

However, I have made one discovery that counts for quite a bit.

When I was twenty-five, I remember the women in the office of that hideous job were all talking about being 40-ish. They were voicing some of the same concerns I've covered here (the losing the ripeness stuff; none of them were actors) and generally bewailing their fate. And I piped in with, "I'm looking forward to turning 40."

They scoffed at me. How could anyone possibly want to be 40? I was too young and didn't understand.

But I did. Because what I said was, "I figure by the time I'm 40, I'll have earned the right to tell the world to fuck off." None of them had seen it quite like that before. I hope some of them decided to take advantage. A year or so later, I was thinking about that exchange and I realized that if I wanted to tell the world to fuck off, there was no need to wait 14 years. I might as well go ahead and get started. I did. And the whole bumpy, wild ride of being a working artist began at that moment.

The great thing is that I've recently discovered the prophetic nature of that simple truth I voiced so long ago. I have earned the right to tell the world to mind its own business and go bother somebody else for a change. I've paid my dues. I've been beaten down and beaten up and done some self-mutiliation in the interests of figuring out who I am. (So it hurt when he hit me there. It still hurts if she hits me there. What happens if I do it? Ouch. Yeah. Still hurts. Maybe I should stop poking an old bruise.) Even though self-exploration is a life-long process, I feel pretty solid about the contents of the core.

I have indeed earned the right to tell the world to fuck off. And I did it a year before I expected to.

Sumbitch. I'm actually ahead of schedule.

Posted by sally at September 13, 2006 08:15 AM

Comments

Posted by: Terry Bain at September 14, 2006 01:22 AM

Posted by: Terry Bain at September 14, 2006 01:22 AM

Posted by: Sallyacious at September 14, 2006 09:40 AM

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