Who is Oscar, anyway? And why did they name the little coveted trophy that in the first place?
Maybe if I had ever attended the big show, I might know the answer to that. I began perusing why, after forty years in the business, I had never attended The Academy Awards. Not when E.T. was up for best picture or Cujo was a top grosser in its genre, or when 10 was celebrated. Hmmmm.
Well, I remember telling a friend, I wasn’t nominated, and it’s such a long, boring, tedious night that ends up in laborious parties till the wee morning hours. It seemed ridiculous to spend all that money on dresses and jewels for one night…because you sure as hell can’t wear it again. Blah, blah, blah.
But, once you are living in a Mindful State, whenever you B.S. yourself, your consciousness starts yelling at you. And so I dutifully set out to do what I teach: find out the truth about why I had actually never gone.
And the truth is, I never felt like I belonged…to the business, to the coveted group of “movie stars” that did attend, to…well, winners in general. Pretty stupid after a career of 150 films, 5 series, and God knows how many commercials. I have had a steady career in acting for over 40 years, and yet I still feel as though I don’t belong. Obviously, it doesn’t matter what the reality is, it’s the perception within that-that is the real reality. And the perception was: I don’t belong.
So I went back to my childhood, as I teach you to do. What was going on? I was a light, a very bright light, born into a family that was sad and struggling and desperate. Didn’t belong. I was a creative girl who dressed up and wore my grandmother’s pin to school. Weird. Didn’t belong. I was the good girl sandwiched between two brothers with not-so-good grades. Didn’t belong. I was the one in my college drama class that was willing to go all the way and bare her truth and vulnerability. Didn’t belong.
And then I did. I went to New York and met other actresses and dancers and got agents and became successful. And I faked it for a very long time. It’s easy to fake belonging (even to yourself) when you are having allot of success. But alas, when things started getting harder, that old definition reared its head again: I don’t belong.
I’m not sure if I feel like I belong even now. But I do know I’m being honest about really feeling that way, and that I accept it, and don’t want it to keep me from living every joyful moment I can in the rest of the amazing time I have left. I belong to me. To me. And I am unique and screwed up and gloriously talented. And the next time I have a reason to go to the Oscars, I’m going. I’m going because I belong to me, and me belongs there. Me belongs with them, as them. Me belongs. I am going to rant the hell about “I BELONG” and rant till I know it in my bones. Want to come along?