The Big Single

BY: JASON RAYNER

The face of a chronically single but nice gay boy.

It has been four and a half years since my last relationship.

Four and a half years. 

It would be powerful to say that this was a self imposed sabbatical - because, in a lot of ways it was. It just wasn’t an intentional self imposed sabbatical. 

I should also note that I’m being very generous when referring to anything in my dating history as a relationship. Throughout my 20s I found myself going from three month stint to three month stint, usually following the same cycle. I’d always start off high on the concept of connection, obsess over intensity, and then have it fall flat before it was ever really able to stand on its own. 

I’ve never been in a long term relationship. In fact, the last relationship I was in was my longest at four months. .

Exhausted from the cycle of my 20s, dating and relationships in my 30s became something I started to procrastinate. Any time I thought about the prospects of a relationship, I’d also question if I really needed one. After all, I happen to be a fairly independent person, and I actually like spending time alone. When Kelly Clarkson sang “Doesn’t mean I’m lonely when I’m alone” I felt that. So why would I put pressure on myself to find someone to be with when I could hang out solo with a glass of wine, face mask, and Jennifer Lopez movie? Plus, I was getting very comfortable being the witty single friend who regales people at gatherings with hilarious and sometimes salacious Grindr hookup stories, or tales of disastrous dates with men who look like a mature Tom Holland that turn out to be priests (I say this as if this has happened more than once, it hasn’t. But it is also a true and tremendous story for another time). 

Well it turns out the unintentional self imposed sabbatical has ended. Because, after four and a half years, I’m finally ready to come out and say it. 

I want to fall in love. I want a relationship. I want a boyfriend. 

Even while writing those very sentences I could feel my heart tighten and my brain wanting to intervene and turn what I’ve written into a punchline that would to cover up my exposed vulnerability.

In all honesty, for all of my cynicism and the self deprecation I’m a hopeless romantic. I grew up obsessed with the deep pining love songs of No Doubt and Gwen Stefani and my teen years were influenced by Carrie Bradshaw and basically any rom com from Bridget Jones to Notting Hill or When Harry Met Sally. My favourite movie and book is Call Me By Your Name. The problem is, most of these stories make love seem like a struggle. Almost all of them involve a sequence where the couple is torn apart by a major obstacle that leads to breaking up until the end of the third act when they realize that actually, they were meant to be together. Or in the case of Call Me By Your Name, circumstance gets in the way (and sadly, in the vast majority of queer films, that circumstance is AIDS and/or death. But I digress), and love is just too damn precious to hang on to. 

As a result, I seemed to only crave relationships that felt difficult. And for years, I blamed those influences for giving me unrealistic expectations of love. 

It wasn’t until recently when I started replaying the limited romantic interactions that I’ve had over the last four and a half years that I realized I never was Bridget Jones (although I am clumsy AF, swear too much, and embarrass myself constantly), but maybe was more like the gay version of Hugh Grant (which in a way would also mean I get to be a Paddington villian. Although if I was in the Paddington universe I would never want to pretend to hate that lovely little bear. Wait. I’m getting off topic and referencing Paddington Bear again, aren’t I?). 

Of those men I did get involved with, some were dates that proved to be disasters (bad chemistry, the fact that he turned out to be a priest), some guys turned out to be flakes or jerks, but most weren’t bad at all. I just didn’t let that stop me from finding a way to make it not work.

I’ve realized that I actively look for the negatives. I look for delays in text messages, or opinions that I don’t necessarily agree with. If that doesn’t work, I try to make snap judgements on their maturity, assume they probably have a lack of ambition, or my personal favourite, I say that we lack the elusive sparks that every relationship needs (cue Bruce Springsteen’s Dancing in the Dark).

Nothing is as bad as when a guy manages to clear all of those hurdles. Because instead of going with it, even if I have evidence that he likes me, I search for a way to convince myself that there must be a mysterious ulterior motive. Or that I’m trying too hard to make my “Elio in search of an Oliver” fantasy come true, and that I’m naively missing something that could end up hurting me. 

So I push them away. I become the one who doesn’t respond to texts or doesn’t hang out with them. I let them move on, and before I can give myself the space to be upset about it, I say that I’m relieved because deep down I knew it wouldn’t really work. 

In other words, I sabotage and put up walls to avoid the potential of rejection. I have become a cliche. How boring, I know!

That’s not to say this thought process is totally unwarranted. I’ve been through a lot, especially in the last year and a half - scroll through this blog for a sample platter of what’s been going on. However, I’m writing this to say I’m tired of repeating my destructive patterns. I finally feel ready to move forward and not let my past stand in the way. 

Now the biggest problem is figuring out how to do it. As noted earlier, I’ve never entirely removed myself from dating apps but it’s been a while since I’ve honestly put myself out there. Putting effort into online dating feels strange and uncomfortable. Partly because I’m making decisions on people without knowing anything beyond what someone lists as their hobbies, or how they answer “fun” questions such as “how my third grade teacher would describe me”. And even if I wade through that and find someone I match with, I still have to wait for him to message me back back. Messaging back, for those of you who don’t use dating apps, has the same success rate as waiting for Godot. You sit in vain, hoping for a response, and at least with gay dating it almost never comes (you’d be surprised by how many profiles outright make mention of this, and then once you match with them and send the first message never hear back). 

It’s a lot. In fact going to the Apple Store without a Genius bar appointment is more relaxing than online dating (for those of you who don’t own an Apple product, the Apple Store is the closest we will come to understand what hell on Earth is). 

Regardless, I’m up for the challenge. I’m learning to be okay with being open about wanting to find someone. I don’t know if I’ll be good at being a boyfriend but I also don’t want to waste any more time missing out on great people because of that uncertainty. 

So I’m writing this blog to hold myself accountable to putting myself out there. And if you know me in person, don’t be surprised if I ask you if you have any single friends, co-workers, or Amazon delivery men that I could potentially date.

The Return

BY: JASON RAYNER

Me in Berlin, not the most excited to go home.

If you’ve read this blog, follow me on Instagram, or have had a conversation with me in the last few months, you know that I recently spent a month in Paris, Barcelona, Munich, Prague, and Berlin. Being wildly neurotic and having a naturally uncanny ability to get ahead of myself, I spent a good portion of the time before I left worrying that I would not only have a terrible time but, that I would also come back without a Julia Roberts/Reese Witherspoon Eat Pray Wild Love mash-up  transformation. 

What happened was beyond anything I could have imagined. It was a month where I was able to focus on my own art and the art of others, expose myself to various cultures, and physically remove myself from many of the issues and struggles that had been plaguing me over the last year (you know stress about the future of my career, terrible body image, my deep rooted fear of commitment and dating, grief. Basically name a common issue, and I’ve probably got it!). 

What I didn’t anticipate was the feeling of true, honest dread of coming back to Toronto. About halfway through the flight back home it suddenly sunk in that I was going to return back to a life that I had essentially repressed memory of. When we began our descent, I looked out the window and saw Toronto in all her glory. It was dark, and Toronto was bright and vibrant and just like Mimi talking about the ghost of Angel at the end of RENT, she looked good. However, as we got further to the ground, I felt  a sharp sinking feeling that was far more vivid than the usual “oh how sad vacation is done, I don’t want to go back to work”. I felt like I was risking losing a piece of myself that had grown while I was there. It was as if I was on my way to my boyfriend’s house, knowing full well that I want to break up with him. 

I had fallen out of love with Toronto.

While away, I felt myself changing. I found myself in a more earnest and sensitive mindframe. I would allow myself to take time to emotionally connect to what was around me - whether it be a painting at an art gallery, the surrounding architecture, or focusing on the song that I was listening to while exploring the city. I was taking time to be sentimental and to my surprise, it was nourishing. I felt like I was being a little bit more like something that I’ve heard discussed on an Oprah Super Soul podcast. 

Allowing myself to be in touch with my emotional state, also allowed me to be more productive with my work. In the time that I was gone, I found myself worrying less about quantity and more about quality. The result, ironically enough was that once I let go, I wrote enough for a feature film worth of material. By allowing myself to connect, the words poured out, and it didn’t matter how many hours a day I spent writing it, or how many pages a day I wrote.

Most importantly, it affected my everyday life. I was more patient with others but mostly myself. I was gentler and kinder. I was open to experiences and people. The tension in my shoulders that I had carried from stressing myself out that I wasn’t enough had dropped. It was like I learned how to live life like my hero, Paddington Bear. 

In Toronto, I find myself constantly overwhelmed. North American culture thrives on hustle, especially with a career in the arts. There are always emails to answer, there are always multiple projects to balance, and there is always (unfriendly) competition. If I’m not overwhelmed by my career, it’s usually pressures regarding how much money I should have, or what things someone my age should have either accomplished or should own (isn’t capitalism grand?), regardless if they’re things that I want.

Before I left I was becoming someone I didn’t entirely recognize. I was becoming jaded and petty to the point that I was shocked when someone called me positive - partly because if felt like an insult implying that I was naive. I would stress myself out to the point that I would have extreme emotional overreactions to things that didn’t really matter. I was spreading myself thin and I wasn’t happy. I was losing touch with things that I loved and myself. I wouldn’t allow myself the luxury to be vulnerable.

Of course, I’m also aware of the travel haze. Being away means exposure to only the best parts of a place - eating great food, going to the most beautiful attractions and galleries, and partying in all the best spots. Travelling is essentially a Madonna Greatest Hits package of a city - everything is a massive bop because track 10 from True Blue was cut (fun fact: there is no track 10 on True Blue - ha!). The last thing I want to be is the person who spends the next three months talking about how everything is better in Europe because I spent a month there and lived the best possible version of life. 

Taking that into account, I’ve never felt more alive than I did when I was in Paris or Berlin. To me, Paris is the most romantic, beautiful, and electrifying city in the world. I feel confident declaring it my favourite place to visit but it doesn’t quite feel like a home. Berlin, on the other hand is a different story. It is such an exciting, wild, weird, and progressive place. Within minutes of walking through the train station I didn’t just feel connected, I felt settled. 

So what do I do? I feel like the version of myself that touched down in Toronto is a more authentic one. I also don’t know how that version fits in with life in the city.

The reality is I live in Toronto. My career is establishing itself here, and the vast majority of the people I love - and I cannot overstate the importance of this - live here. I also know that being physically away from problems can allow for fresh insights but picking up and leaving won’t magically solve everything. 

That being said, I don’t want to make any decisions until I’ve done everything I can to repair my relationship with the city.

Which is why I’ve made a pact with myself to give the city a year. Most of the things that I loved about my trip - the culture, the art, the food - are all things Toronto has. For the most part, a lot of my dissatisfaction with this city is my own fault. I’ve become complacent and stubborn and hesitate to go anywhere that is farther away than a 30 minute walk. I’ve somehow convinced myself that I prefer staying at home watching whatever streaming service currently has the most pop culture-worthy TV show instead of connecting with people in real life (sorry, liking someone’s social media post is not the same as a conversation). I’ve created a bubble that I never break out of at the expense of experiencing the city. The city has so much to offer, and I spend most of it sitting at home drinking wine (not to disrespect wine - although it seriously is overpriced here).

The goal is to actually live in this city. Just like if I was a tourist, I want to experience everything it has to offer. I’m going to say yes to things (like Shonda Rhimes told me to!), and not let distance, or HBO get in the way of it.

As for my perspective change? I think the most important thing I can do is apply those things I’ve learned while away to my life here. I can’t change the culture as a whole but I can change how I interact in that space. The noise and distraction will always be there, but it’s always been up to me when choosing to listen to it.

For the longest time, Toronto was one of my great loves. Born and raised here, being a Torontonian has been an essential part of my identity and it feels strange to doubt that. I don’t know where the future is going to take me entirely but I feel different and I feel like I’m on the verge of a new chapter. I just don’t know if the next chapter in my life involves living in Toronto. There’s a very good chance that chapter will happen in Europe. But I don’t want to break up with Toronto without giving them a fair shot.

No Really, I Don't Want Children

BY: JASON RAYNER

Me, trying to find a way to tell someone I don’t want kids.

I’ve always been different. In high school, my friends would talk about their crushes and sex with the opposite gender, and I would sit silently realizing that the only people I felt attraction to were my male classmates. While I ended up going to university and completing a psychology degree, I turned away from the idea of of grad school or building a career related to said degree, to pursue a career in writing and film. While countless people around me are settled into long term relationships, I don’t know how to date - mostly because I don’t understand how to fit in seeing someone romantically with my busy schedule of binge watching my stories and seeing my friends. I’m also not quite sure I understand the concept of having sex with the same person indefinitely.

While I see that my experiences often don’t match the status quo, they’ve always felt pretty natural to me. As I’ve gotten older, I haven’t really put much thought into how these things separate me from others. In fact, it wasn’t until this past holiday season, amongst the parade of dinners, drinks, and gossiping with various friends and family that are outside my immediate circle, that I realized how different my lifestyle is from other people my age.

It was somewhere in the middle of my approximately 73rd dinner with a friend where I realized a pattern. Every conversation seemed to revolve around who was getting married, buying homes, and to my shock, having kids. While I do have many friends who are married, own homes, and are thinking about having kids, I have just as many who are not. I realized that even as I’ve been attending weddings and housewarmings over the years, I’ve never really registered how common these things were for people my age. So many people were moving through adulthood briskly, with a set of personal goals accomplished that I haven’t even thought about.

As soon as my friend left, I promptly finished whatever wine was left in the bottle and started thinking. Not only about what my life would be like if I followed a different path, but more importantly, if I even wanted any of these things.

A lot of these answers were easy. I’m in such a different economic stratosphere that I can’t even begin to think about owning a home and I’m more than okay with that. I’m doing the work to be satisfied with my career, and I’m not willing to sacrifice happiness for money - although it is a tad annoying that my happiness has to come from creative expression, perhaps the least assured form of financial stability.

Then there is marriage. My life as a partially-by-choice/chronically single person is for another essay but, I also don’t feel too worried about having to get married. It’s something I could see myself doing (I do love parties), yet I can easily see myself being content with a significant other and skipping the legalities.

The easiest answer however, is the one that I feel I’m not supposed to express.

I don’t want children.

At all.

Seriously.

Taking this stance, is of course very different as a male, especially as a gay male. I’m aware that women have a large number of factors placed on them, including their own hormones and bodies practically screaming at them to have children. The only thing I do know, is that all of us  - regardless of gender and sexual orientation - are at some point in our lives, expected to want to have kids (to the point that it’s weaponized against many members of the LGBTQ+ community when they come out).

I can already hear the choruses of people saying “well, you never know”, or “never say never”, or my personal favourite, “don’t say that!”.

In fact, even while writing this piece I have encountered people I barely know telling me how much I need children in my life. No word of a lie, earlier today a man at work I don’t know told me I was “missing out” because I didn’t have kids, nephews, or nieces (which by the way, is hard to have when you’re an only child and single). He then asked who would take care of me when I was older as if that is the true incentive for having a child (also, wow that’s fucking grim, and again this was from a man whose name I don’t even know).

Even though I’ve known this for so long, even though I’m stating it as plain fact, I’m still treated as if my feelings are temporary. Most people in my life at some point  - and I mean people both with and without children - love to bring up hypotheticals. They speak of this magical man that I’ll fall in love, who will want children so much that he will convince me to have them. Of course, this ignores my choices and how little I want to have children. This is a ridiculous of argument because, while being a dealbreaker, it’s also a pretty good sign that someone who wants kids desperately is not a compatible spouse for me. It’s also worth noting that most people seem to forget that as a gay male, the only way to have a child is to actively want it. Adoption and surrogacy are things that require a never ending well of planning, money, and effort. There are no unplanned pregnancies between two men.

The most offensive assumption I get from people is that something must have happened to me as a child to make me feel this way. Except, my childhood was awesome. As a child I wasn’t really that into children friendly things. My tastes have always been more adult. In grade five, I was obsessed with TV shows like ER and Seinfeld - even if I didn’t fully understand them. I remember telling my grade three class my favourite movie was The Pelican Brief and begged my dad to take me to see Seven when I was nine (he did; we both loved it). Even when I did something more child friendly like going swimming, I would spend my time underwater trying to figure out why Alanis Morissette was so angry on Jagged Little Pill, and then swim over to talk about it with the adult (but in actuality probably, teen) lifeguard. I was only really interested in my peers when we got older and their tastes caught up to mine.

Simply put, I’m not a paternal person. I can be selfish. I have very little patience (like, very little). I have aspirations and goals that do not prioritize a child - and most importantly, I don’t want to make space to prioritize a child. I’m loving, and I know that if I had a child I would drive myself crazy worrying about them. It’s like hearing someone tell you how hot a plate is and touching it anyway. Except I’m not curious enough to touch the plate. Again, it isn’t lost on me that I just compared a child to a burn, which again is just proof that I am not built for that life.

It’s not that I actively dislike kids, either (although I will sometimes lean into this idea to watch people’s reactions). I do however hate kid culture as perpetuated by adults. I hate temper tantrums. I hate the way many parents allow their children to behave.

Even after being so declarative, I still feel like I have to write a disclaimer, making sure not to offend anyone with kids or anyone who wants kids. It’s truly astonishing how often saying you don’t want children is taken as if its a personal attack or criticism on someone’s choice to have them. The thing is, I get why people want them. If I’m friends with you, or related to you, and you have a kid, I’ll (probably) really adore your kids and I’ll totally watch Paddington with them (but let’s be real, I’ll probably be a much better uncle-ish figure when I can show them Greta Gerwig movies and they can have a glass of wine with me). That being said, I also don’t really want to be your babysitter (unless you’re really in a bind, and in that case, duh I’ll do it), and I will absolutely never speak to your child in a baby voice.

I don’t want kids, and I know that the fact that I don’t want them is evidence enough that I shouldn’t have them. I’ve felt this way since I was at least 18 years old. Even after explaining myself, I’m sure people reading this will still think that I’m being dramatic. People will still try to get me to hold their babies even after I politely say no thank you, and strangers will continue to question me if I don’t gush over the idea of having a child. And while even I am not immune to a cute photo on Instagram or a funny precocious child moment, more often than not I’m not really paying attention when your social media accounts and conversations are inundated with baby talk.

I’m finally in a place where I know what I don’t want - and while it may not be as satisfying as knowing what I do want, it’s definitely a nice way to get there. So no really, I don’t want children. And I don’t feel bad about it.

Resolutions

BY: JASON RAYNER

New age, new year, new me?

We are now just a little more than a week into 2019. Which is just enough time into the year for any short term resolutions to have been broken.

Does that sound cynical? It’s meant to. Because, I hate New Year resolutions. Or at least, I hate what they’ve become.

I do like the symbolism of resolutions. In all honesty, I kind love the idea of using it as a way to divide the chapters of my life. I also have a birthday at the end of the year and it makes it almost impossible to not think of my age and the calendar year as being tied together as segments of my life. In fact, I even like the symbolism of looking back and noting a few things that you would like to change.

It used to be that resolutions were attainable changes that you wanted to make to your life. Things like reading more, spending less money, quitting smoking. Now they aren’t even called resolutions. The language has changed to sound more evolved and important. They’re coded as “manifestations” or “year paths”.

Which is fine. Call it what you want. It’s the content that I take issue with. No longer are these small changes made to better yourself. Instead they’ve transformed into a list of grandstanding hopes and dreams, disguised as achievable goals. Now resolutions are things like “by the end of the year, I will have a development deal with Netflix”, or “I am going to publish my book and get it on the bestsellers list”, or “I will run a successful business by the end of 2019”. This isn’t to say that any of these things can’t happen - in fact, I genuinely hope they happen for a lot of good people. I also love ambition, and these are good career goals to work toward. However, to expect major changes to take place in a 365-day time period isn’t only unrealistic but, also unfair pressure to place on one person’s psyche. Especially when a lot of the time, these are things that aren’t entirely up to you.

It’s hard enough to keep simple resolutions. Usually all it takes is a cold Saturday for a bottle of red wine to be opened up and break a dry January. Gym memberships can be bought but the harder thing is actually making time to go to the gym. Staying positive works until you log on to Twitter and have your own buffet of things to make you feel blinded by rage and frustration.

So why we do this to ourselves? Because I don’t know about you dear reader, but all this does is leave me feeling disappointed; unsatisfied that I have not done enough.

At the risk of sounding my age, I do blame social media for a lot of this. In the last few weeks I have been inundated with memes and Instagram posts written with the “Notes” app about all of the things people plan to achieve and how they plan on achieving them. I’ve been told to take a dream and put a date to it so it becomes a goal. I’ve been told to look in to a mirror and say what I want out loud. I’ve been told that a lot of people absolutely cannot stop, and will not under any circumstances, stop.

And I’m saying fuck it.

I am sick and tired of “grind” culture. I am sick of hearing people talking about hustling. I’m genuinely horrified when I hear stories of people writing over their Christmas holidays, or working from home while battling a terrible flu, or when I catch myself feeling guilty for needing a vacation.

I’m sure making grand resolutions can be beneficial for some people. I’m not one of them.

Going back, I can see that it has never worked for me. In fact, I’m starting to realize it’s actually been detrimental to my mental health. This is what is responsible for leaving me in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, obsessing over my age and what I feel like I should have already accomplished (even as I type this I’m tempted to google “what are the expectations for the average 33 year old Canadian?”). It’s what leads me to compare myself to others and what successes they have had. I never even bother to take into account other factors such as privilege, access, luck, and the work they have done to get to where they are. Mostly because I’m too obsessed with seeing how I measure up. In fact, that becomes such an obsession that I don’t actually get anything else done.

Because in the midst of panic, I create more and more goals to list to anyone who will listen. You’d be surprised by how much time time talking about my ambitions to anyone who will listen actually takes. I may feel a high talking to people about the several projects I have in the works but, in the end they don’t end up going farther than that because I’m too busy telling myself to hustle and plan the next milestone in my life that I need to hit.

I’m starting to realize that maybe life isn’t like a season of Stranger Things with a neat and tidy serialized arc. If anything it’s more like a season The Good Wife, where development gets interrupted constantly by zany and unpredictable cases of the week.

I’m aware that my anti-resolution sentiment can be seen as a resolution. Perhaps it is. I just know that I am giving up on the idea that a new year will change everything. Good and bad things happen regardless or the time of the year. Motivation is a constant, and I’m tired of being trapped in an inferiority complex. I wish it was as easy as cutting ties with social media (as if I’m giving up Instagram and miss out on daily photos of Gus Kenworthy and Antoni Porowski), and I’ll probably still organize my life based on periods of time, usually by year. I just want to reject any pressure that is put on me to constantly be working and do more.

So yes, 2019 is a new year and I do have a new attitude. It’s coincidental, I swear!

Dreams vs. Money

BY: JASON RAYNER

For my entire adult life, I have been perpetually broke. I don’t think I’m supposed to admit that, though. Money is a strange thing in our society. It’s coveted, it’s necessary, and it is something almost everyone thinks about. Our entire days are centered around making it and spending it. But you aren’t supposed to talk about it. If you have an abundance, it’s best to not gloat. If you have too little, it’s weakness.

Me, looking longingly at a case of La Croix, which at tis point in my life, is essentially a luxury item.

It’s important to note the difference between being broke and being poor. I have an apartment, I am able to afford basic necessities, I just don’t have much money outside of that. Most of the time there are fluctuations. There have been times in my recently-graduated-from-University days where I’ve had so little money that the only way I was able to pay the minimum payment on my credit card was to go out for dinner with a friend, charge it to my almost maxed out card, and then ask them for their half in cash so I can could into an ATM and transfer that money to my credit card. Then there times where I am making a little more than I used to and I feel like I am living like Prince George. In almost all cases I add up my annual income and realize that I’m still just a little over the poverty line.

Choosing a life as an artist is particularly tough on finances. Everyone is competitive, and the amount of work you have to produce before you can even begin thinking about earning money is overwhelming. Writing jobs require sample packages, acting agencies require demo reels and resumes, film grant eligibility is based on having work already publicly exhibited. Getting to the place where you can maybe get paid takes a lot. More importantly, it takes time. So rarely do we talk about the time that is necessary to dedicate to making art.

Putting in the time isn’t really a problem per se; in fact I would prefer to. If I could spend my days writing at home or working on a film set, I’d be at my happiest. It’s the fact that balancing art while simultaneously trying to keep your head above water financially is a constant balancing act. It feels like I’m walking on a tightrope, and I’m a clumsy mess (and yes, I am listening to The Greatest Showman soundtrack while writing this, thank you for noticing the circus metaphor).

For most of my adult life, I have struggled with wanting to focus on art, while also trying to ensure that my income increased every year. Because more money is status, and the older I get, the more status I’m allegedly supposed to have. In your early 20s, living in a house with five roommates and spending a winter day in a coffee shop so you don’t have to turn on your heat seems almost charming (I’ve never personally done that but I know people who have). In your 30s, you are expected to be a “proper adult”. If you aren’t sharing a home with a spouse, you should be on your own, and most definitely be working toward owning. You should also be able to afford to eat organic. It’s called Forever 21 not Forever 31, after all (I sit here at me desk at 32, wearing head-to-toe Forever 21 by the way). When you’re an artist, you can get away with having less as long as you can bring up several projects you’re working on during a dinner party. Just keep your fingers crossed that no one asks you where they can view your short films,

The struggle to have enough money to help me feel like an adult yet still work on becoming a writing, acting, directing, and producing sensation has led me to several phases of my professional life. For a while, I would work contract jobs and tell myself that I would work on my craft in my off time. Instead, I would get a contract that would occupy all of my focus and energy and when it ended, I would spend all of my now free time looking for the next contract, leaving no time to create. So then I decided that I would go for stability and get a full time job, not worry about finances, and work on weekends and evenings (looking for this type of job was its own kind of nightmarish full-time job, by the way). Well, once I actually landed something, it turned out that I absolutely hated the 9 - 5 life (no matter how many times I thought of sweet angel Dolly Parton), and I was too tired to actually work on anything creative once I got home. In fact, I had less spare time because I was dreaming of being in bed by 9pm. I had money and I was miserable. So I went back to part time work, and was back at the start, stressing over not having enough money. So I got a second part time job. I was working 6 days a week, and while I was making more money than usual, I had virtually made no progress with the career I actually wanted. So I quit the part time job I loathed, and used my new free time to try laser focus on art.

Which brings me to present day. I’ve never been more focused on creating and I am simultaneously losing sleep over the fact that I am barely covering my basic life expenses. I feel fulfilled during the days (and some evenings) that I am writing, editing, and filming. Then I realize that I probably can’t afford that celebratory glass of wine I want to commemorate a job well done.

So how exactly can someone balance working toward their aspirations while meeting their financial standards? And yes, I realize I am asking this like I’m Carrie Bradshaw (even though I’m so obviously a Miranda).

I remember vividly one day in my mid-20s when I was working at a temp job, and a woman I had never met before said to me “You can have everything in life, you just won’t have it all at the same time” (moments after she said this, she vanished and I never saw her again). I didn’t love hearing that at the time because I wanted to believe in the glamour that came with whatever “having it all!” was supposed to mean. Now I think it might be the wisest thing ever said to me (if I was to find out that the 50 something year old woman with a great outfit dropping deep life lessons never really existed and was just a figment of my imagination, I would maybe believe you). Because the idea of “having it all!” is really an end game, but no one really goes into the specifics of what the process really entails.

Right now, it appears that while one area of life thrives, others fall apart. If you’re trying to focus your energy into building a career as an artist, your finances might take a hit. If you want to focus on your career in general, you might also have a hard time having a personal life. If you are in a new relationship, or do something crazy like have a kid (I think this is something people my age do - I’ll research that later), that will probably take up a lot of your time, and a lot of things like work will probably seem a little less important. And that’s okay. Some annoying truths about life include the fact that there is only 24 hours in a day, our attention spans wander constantly throughout our work days, and our bodies crash if we do not get sleep (while at 23 I would excite myself with the idea of only needing 5 hours of sleep, I now at 32, do not function well with less than 7 not just mentally but physically, in the form of bags that are so heavy they look like they’re weighted to the ground).

This essay isn’t a declaration or an answer. I don’t have a mantra I repeat in my mirror to manifest my dreams (no shade if you do!). Right now, I’m forcing myself to weigh what is more important to me, and trying to focus on what matters. For me, that is my art and trying to turn it into a career. I still want to be able to buy nice things, I still want to meet a nice guy to date, I still want to travel the world. If this (maybe imaginary) woman’s words from the temp job are to be believed, we should stop talking about “having it all!”, and maybe just focus on what we have right now and try our hardest to be happy with it. I think it’s also important that we talk about these struggles. There is nothing worse than feeling like there is something wrong with you for not being able to juggle so many things at once. So yes, I’m struggling with all of this. If you are too, you’re not alone.

I’d say we should commiserate over a drink but I’m currently broke.