I can’t work today. 

I have spent hours trying to work out why suddenly today I can’t open an email, process an invoice or create some content. 

And I finally know why. 

Because I’m not doing the thing that requires no explanation - of myself, of the process, of the experience. 

For 10 years I have tried to make sense of my life. I have worked in scarcity and lack for 10 years and have never ceased to try to find the puzzle piece that makes this section fit in the puzzle of my life. 

I have heaved, dragged, paused, side stepped, hauled, bull changed, dashed, paused and reflected. 

And made some sense. 

Some. 

But when I am transported by a choir, or a play, or an art museum or a poet, the longing descends. 

The longing. 

The belonging. 

I am an artist. 

I am an actor. 

I am a storyteller. 

Not for marketing or sales, or community, or engagement…. for art. 

I don’t do chit chat.  

I want to share your despair and bear witness to your trauma and laugh till we cry and sit in the space after feeling. 

I want to touch your soul. 

And I want you to touch mine. 

I am an actor. 

I lay my character’s soul bare that you may witness. And feel. And share. And experience. And be moved. 

And be better. 

And leave having been altered. 

I am frustrated by small talk. 

I will mention the weather if we can share what melancholy comes with rain, what anger comes with wind and what freedom comes from the sun. 

Or not. 

I can talk about children if we can share the exquisite paradox that is motherhood. 

Loss of identity, independence, of our own heart, of control. Of self - separate and indivisible. 

And the exponential wonder of divisibility.

I can talk about partners if we can explore growth, lessons learned, regrets and hope. 

I am not a regular human. 

I am an actor living a regular life. 

Trying to make it make sense.