Art School Drop Out

This morning, I had breakfast with my dear friend, Lily. We've known each other since 2nd grade and I'm very blessed to still have her in my life. She is currently in medical school and I'm an accidental college drop out. Today, we ate and talked about our lives. We talked about where we are and where we want to go. Our lives are so incredibly different but somehow we can always come together and find parallels in the lessons life is teaching us. I'm incredibly proud of her and I hope she's proud of me.

I know what you're thinking, "Wait, wait, wait! Sydney what do you mean 'accidental college drop out'? What the hell does that mean?"

Oh yeah. I didn't actually graduate college! Ha! I lied to everyone! Sorry.

Going into my Comedy Studies semester, I was already a super senior. I was careless with my schedule the year before and only took the minimum classes required for financial aid. My silly ass didn't do the math. By the end of my Comedy Studies semester (what I hoped would be my last semester), I was 7 credit hours short. 7 CREDIT HOURS! That's part-time! That's nowhere near done.

Now, I know what you're thinking again. "Okay. If you did Comedy Studies in Fall then just finish up the rest in the Spring!"

Funny story...

My financial aid ran out during Comedy Studies! I still owe money for that semester! So instead of paying that off and going back to school, I went to Europe. I saw the canals in Amsterdam, Notre Dame, Sagrada Familia and drank so much Cafe con Leche. It was a marvelous trip that I used to say I wouldn't trade for anything. Now I realize I might have traded it for a college degree. I put myself even more in debt to go on a trip to prove I could be adventurous. It was my favorite mistake.

Flash forward to me now. I've been trying to look for work and it's been incredibly difficult. I see the words "Bachelor's Degree" under requirements and I mentally kick myself. I'm lucky to have the tour but it doesn't have benefits and interferes with comedy. Feeling that I hit a dead end, I met with my advisor and we figured out a plan to get me graduated. Step two is getting funding to get me graduated. This will be a much more difficult step.

"Sydney. Why are you telling me this?"

When I was younger, I was very open book. I told people too much. For some reason, I have always felt like if someone asks, they deserve to know. As I get older this is becoming less and less true. Oversharing is not good for me or my relationships. I'm learning some information is for close friends and others just for me.
This would have been one of those pieces of information just for me and my closest friends. But instead of being vague with people when they asked me how life was going, I lied. I said I graduated to make myself sound accomplished and I was embarrassed to be 23 without a college degree. So instead of saying, I'm still working on my degree, I lied. I straight up lied. I lied to people on my tour, I lied to my friends, I even lied to my mom. I was so ashamed.

But I'm done lying. I'm not perfect. I have always learned my life lessons the hard way. From losing my virginity in a bathtub to losing a friend's trust by not being supportive. I fly high and fall hard. Hitting the ground isn't pleasant but it's necessary. With each fall, I get to learn how to fly again and better than the last time.  This is what makes me love my life. I'm proud of being college educated and now my next adventure is getting the slip of paper that proves it.

And hey! Maybe now, I can take that Solo Performance class everybody talks about. Lord knows I got some shit to say.

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Prohibition, The F Word and Me.

“This is a 21 and up drinking tour about breaking the law in the United States for 13 years. That is a very adult topic. I am assuming that since you bought tickets for this tour you are adults who can handle such adult topics. I do know what some of you are thinking right now. 'Why is that 12 year old girl telling me I’m an adult?' I am an adult and I’m old enough to be leading this tour. As an adult, I will be using colorful language. So get used to it pretty fucking quick because it’s just gonna start rolling out.” –Sydney Back, Chicago Prohibition Tours Disclaimer

This tiny blurb of a disclaimer changed the way my tour sees me.

I started working for Chicago Prohibition Tours in June of 2015. By July 2015, I had been told 3 separate times that the tour was interesting enough without cursing. I was told by a woman two women over 40 and a review on the tour’s website. I began to wonder whether I was coming on too strong. I softened up for a couple of weeks afraid to say a single bad word. I started replacing “shit” with “crap” and “fuck” with “freak”. I eventually started to realize that I didn’t like to say those words. One of the reasons I signed on to do this tour was because my boss cussed in his tour. It made me feel like my stand up background would finally be useful in a job setting. It felt wrong that I was being told to stop doing one of the main things I liked about the tour in the first place. The no nonsense, adult attitude of the tour. As I was talking about Carrie Nation smashing up bars, the Anti-Saloon League threatening and bribing politicians, and watching all of these tourists enjoy high quality cocktails, I was being told that, “the cussing was too much.” 
I quickly realized it wasn’t me as a tour guide or the tour itself. There was a factor that I had not ever come into contact with until now.

You see, my boss, a burly, bearded Chicago native in his 30s was wrote and lead the tour for the first year after its inception. He immediately has agency in front of large groups of people.

I was a 21 year old blonde haired blue eyed woman. Most of our tour demographic have children my age. I’m from Ohio which means if someone were to walk up to me right now and push me, I would apologize to them. I had never had a public speaking job unless you consider asking customers if they want a Target Red Card a performance. I admit I was nervous. But I loved the history I was regurgitating and was trying to get better even on my days off. I remember being in the shower, on the train, in bed, reciting the tour. I didn’t want to be the reason a customer didn’t understand or love this history.

Too much cussing still seemed like a strange critique. I thought one of the most interesting parts of the tour was the ability to cuss and call out bull shit.

In the back of my head there was always a little voice telling me what it probably was. A young woman cussing. How horrible. They didn’t care about the opinions that I gave but the words I used to give those opinions. The “F’ word was a no-no but comparing the brainwashing tactics of the WCTU to the Nazi’s was perfectly understandable. It wasn't me. It was people's perceptions of me, what they thought a girl should or shouldn't be doing or saying. 

Since that time, I have not backed down from the cussing. I say the disclaimer at the top of this post as a way to show my dominance. I agree it’s a little harsh but I know that I have to work twice as hard for people to respect me. I didn’t do the research. I didn’t write the tour. I do give the information in a way that keeps people coming back. I love the information, history, lessons to be learned from this era and want to share it with others. I’m no longer going to put up with bull shit. There is one big lesson I’ve learned from my 3 years in Chicago and 2 years of doing this tour: Sometimes people need to be told, “fuck off”. If you don’t like a 21 and up tour where a grown ass woman cusses, maybe you should stay home. We have plenty of customers that either love it or are old enough to put aside a few cuss words in the name of history.  

I'm happy to say that in the last year and a half, there have been no more complaints for my cussing. To to that I say, "fuck yeah!" 

Thanks for listening. Come back again. 

7 Words

Here are 7 words I thought I'd always be above saying;
I've slightly lost myself in a relationship.

I thought it was impossible for me to feel so comfortable with someone that I'd lose sight of my own self-actualization. Feeling heard, loved and like I'm on a team with Willem has had a weird effect on me and the strong independent woman I aim to become. I've been so excited about us that I forgot to continually seek fulfillment in my work and life. Whenever I was unhappy with my work or school, I would lean into him. He would help me to feel better and even challenge me to try new things but I wouldn't take the advice. I was satisfied enough that he believed in me.
The other day he asked me, "What's the one thing you want to do before you leave Chicago?" I didn't have a vivid answer for him. I gave myself moments to think and decided on a one woman show or a movie I write with my friends. Upon saying that, I thought about how I don't have a group a friends that I could make a movie with. Before we started dating, I wasn't really a "hang out" kind of gal. I had great friends but I always felt like we needed to be doing something if we were going to hang out. If we weren't, I would just rather be alone because I didn't want to have to try and be super social or entertaining. When I began dating him, I wanted to be with him all the time. I just couldn't get enough. I enjoyed entertaining him. As I got more comfortable with him, it was less about entertaining and more about just existing with him. He accepted me for every weird thing I was and every not super interesting word that I said. This had helped me realize that my friends feel the same way. The "having to entertain" came from my own insecurity, not they're need from me to be entertaining. Because I've spent honest time with him, I've learned that hanging with real friends means being chill and not trying to prove anything. But now on nights that he isn't available, I search through my phone and feel bad about asking any of my friends to hang out because I feel like I've abandoned them and I'm now just coming to them because he's not there.
His question also made me think about how I'm not doing/creating any work that fulfills me which makes me lean more to him. I'm a part of many different projects right now but I'm not looking at them as opportunities for growth. I used to look at former projects things that help make me and my art better. Now I've stopped focusing on that and only focus on getting the work done so I can relax. This is a simple mental switch that can help not only my art but also our relationship. Leaning on him too much for fulfillment and happiness is a huge no-no in any relationship but especially with the impending foreclosure of ours as we know it. (Oh yeah, he's moving to L.A in August for those who don't know.) I feel like I need to find my personal happiness even more because of this.

It's spring break and he's about to leave for over 5 days to visit family and some other fun stuff. During that time, I'm challenging myself to re-connect with my wants and needs. I'm re-evaluating my happiness, the happiness that is separate to the happiness of our partnership. Self-Actualization has always been my goal and being in love shouldn't stop that. I'll keep you updated.

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The Trap

At 2pm today, I entered the Student Health Center to figure out why I've had a noticeable loss of appetite. At 3pm, I exited with the knowledge that I am, in fact, depressed. At some point, the doctor even said, "Yeah you should be seeing a counselor, these [results to the depression test] are pretty severe." This isn't a long post. It's just a documentation of this day for me. I've been feeling rather depressed but blamed it on myself. Saying, "If I could just get up and go do something, or write something or just look on the brightside, I'd feel better. It's my fault for feeling this. I have no reason to feel this way."
This is the real trap of depression. There is no reason for it. It's a chemical imbalance. It isn't the person's fault but most people blame themselves anyway.
Moving forward, I'm going to need counseling and possibly medication but honestly just knowing that it may not be entirely my fault and that I have a strong support system around me, makes it easier already.

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2014: The Last Year I Was Innocent

Wowie kapowie. I haven't written one of these in a while. Some say I'm happy. Some say I'm busy. I say, I just haven't had an inspiring idea. With the year 2015 behind me, I thought back to when it was only just beginning.
2014 was a year that shaped my existence as more than any other year. I moved to Chicago, Taylor Swift released 1989, and I felt the largest heartbreak of my life so far, the death of a former best friend. 11 months of that year I was young and excited. For the first 3 months of the year, I was re-vamping myself, in the 4th month, I put my attention and efforts towards accomplishing my dream of moving to Chicago, by the 8th month, I accomplished that dream, but during the 12th month, all that happiness and overwhelming joy faded. Dave took his life and I wore the pain on me like a raggedy coat for months.
2014 was the last year that I was innocent. It was the last year that I thought heartbreak was only caused by a boy breaking up with you. It was the last year I just kind of grasped the concept of loss, instead of fully understanding it. It was my last year as a girl.
I also left my old flame in 2014. Charles and I on the last day of 2014 decided that we wouldn't speak anymore. A decision that felt like a mere scratch compared to the loss of Dave but was still a loss in and of itself.
I didn't want 2015 to come. I wanted the exhilaration of accomplishment back. I wanted my old flame back. I wanted Dave back.
2015 came anyway. I was in Dayton on a dog hair covered couch next to friends that adored me. I counted down. I kissed my friend. I sipped my beer. I played the part of New Years Eve Party Goer to a T.
My womanhood seemed to truly begin that night. With no romantic attachments, no job, an understanding of grief, and a new red lipstick, I returned to Chicago to continue what I started in 2014, my adult life. I went back to school early to be a part of the Comedy New Stew directed by Anne Libera. At a time when being funny was the least appetizing, I tried to throw myself into the work. We had rehearsals in the morning then had the rest of the day to ourselves. Knowing the rest of the day typically resulted in me laying in my bed sleeping or crying, I knew I could escape the grief in the morning. I wasn't thinking about Dave or the sound the rocks made when they hit his casket. I was thinking about Dorothy Parker and the Algonquin Round Table. I was thinking about delivery and timing. I was thinking about ensemble and stage picture.
The rest of the year followed suit. I worked and worked and worked. Eventually, it wasn't to numb, it was because I loved it. I was doing theater, stand up, improv and writing sketch. I loved the person I was becoming and life I was leading.
Early in 2015, I had made the decision to stop just having sex and start having a real relationship. The kind that doesn't stop texting you because they found other person to bang or because they got what they wanted and moved on. I wanted a friend that also wanted to kiss my face and touch my butt. I wasn't settling for any less so that gave me even more incentive to keep working and creating.
In March of 2015, Willem Aloe asked me, at a rooftop party, if I wanted to "do something sometime." My response verbatim was, "Yeah! I eat sometimes!" With a response that barely answered the original question in a coherent way, I put my number in his phone. He later specified, "By 'do something', I meant like a date." Playing it cool yet again, I responded with nonchalant, "I mean I don't really know you yet so I mean we'll see but yeah cool." As much as I thought this boy was the shit, I knew that I can't throw myself into him like I had with others. I had learned better.  
Our first date was simply walking around Chicago. We walked around for a couple of hours then got chilly and sat in the lobby of my dorm talking, laughing, watching fart videos, until 3am. With a hug goodnight, I went to my room with that Cloud 9 feeling I thought I had forgotten. Over the next 3 months, we began seeing each other. After a brief intermission during the summer, we became official in September.
I never thought I'd finish 2015 living my life WITH someone. A person that looks at me like my shit don't stink. The man who calms and excites me at the same time. Someone who I love because he's Willem Freakin' Aloe and doesn't ever apologize for that.
My relationship aside, 2015 continued to be a great year. I became a tour guide. I started my film career. I got cast in Freq Out (a mini-dream since 2014). I've been able to really explore all sides of the performing arts. I've learned what I like and what I don't like. What I'm good at and what I want to get better at. You know, typical self-actualizing human stuff.
My career will soon take me away from Chicago and lead me West. Before I try to tackle the City of Angels, I'm going to spend my early 20s here, working, learning, improving, so that when I get out there I'm as close to ready as I'll ever be.
With all of this success and happiness, came doubt and fear and lots of tears. Though I was overall happy, there are still days when you just need to sit in the shower and play Hurt by Johnny Cash on repeat until the tears stop. The sad days are a small price to pay for the fantastic ones. That is a sentence I need to have tattooed on me. Probably not in those exact words....YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!
There are still moments, hours, days that I feel the pain of losing Dave. Missing him is a feeling I'll never get over. As the regret is taking its sweet time to leave my brain, I still find peace in the passage of time. The grief pops up less often now and even if it does, I'm able to silence it with a good memory or reminder that I loved him the best I knew how.

I didn't want 2015 to happen but it did. It did and I'm better for it. Now 2016 is upon me and I welcomed it with much wider arms. New year doesn't mean a new me. It means a me-er me. I'm slowly becoming a woman that I can be proud of, through all the heartbreak and the success. Both work together.

Thanks for listening. Come back for more.

Hello. It's Me.

Hello. It's me. I was wondering if after all these weeks you'd like to read, to go over everything. They say that school's supposed to change ya, but I ain't done much changin.

Yeah. I did that. Forgive me and let's move on.

I'll get right to it. I feel like shit. More like, I feel like I'm shit. A big, steaming piece of shit.

This is an old feeling that seems to keep dressing up as another feeling and infiltrating my brain. This is the old feeling that kept me from applying to Columbia in high school. This is the old feeling that haunted me for 2 years because I lost my virginity before marriage. This is the old feeling I thought was gone or at least controllable.
It started with a constant dialogue with myself over the past semester. Am I a good person? Have I helped anyone? Do I understand and practice empathy? Is there something about me that people loathe but deal with because they have to? Do people loathe me secretly? Am I incredibly stupid but no one is telling me because they don't want me to feel bad? These toxic questions rattled around in my head at least once a week. I silenced them with work, school, and my new-ish romance, hoping that they'd disappear like they always do. Hoping there would be a silver lining that I could find and document in this blog. I also partially feared that if I spoke of them out loud to anyone, they'd become real and uncontrollable. One of my biggest fears is always making another person responsible for my emotions. I should be able to deal with them alone. I should be able to control them and not let them affect me. I shouldn't be so goddamn sensitive and insecure. This system of repression only worked for so long.

Tuesday night, I was at an improv rehearsal with Cat Booty (I know, I love the name too!) having a ball. This is one of the moments I felt myself. Laughs, glances, and jokes were exchanged between members and we had a great first set. Soon the second set started and I stepped out to get a suggestion. "Can I get a suggestion of something that you can't find in a ladies purse?" A teammate scoffed and slightly glared as if the idea was the stupidest thing that person had ever heard. This may not have been the case but for some reason it sent me in a tail spin. I shouted, "Well then you get a suggestion!" Our coach gave us a suggestion and the set moved forward. I cooled off and did my scene work but I couldn't help but start answering those questions with negative answers. Over and over I started thinking, "Wow idiot. Way to go. Not only are you a shitty suggestion getter, you are a bad person because you got mad. Way to fucking go." I tried to shut it out. Re-invest in the moment during notes. It rang louder and longer. Rehearsal was dismissed and I put my headphones in. I rushed to the restroom where I began to sob. I began to repeat, "You're so stupid, nobody likes you." over and over which evolved into a simple "Stupid stupid stupid," like a fucked up mantra. I couldn't control my hands or body. They were at the mercy of my emotions. After many minutes of this, I left the bathroom with tear soaked eyes and the strongest face I could find. I hurried to my dorm two blocks away. I barely made it outside before it started again. I saw my improv group a block ahead of me laughing and having a wonderful time, solidifying the idea that people do loathe me and were perfectly fine without me. My brain even told me they were better. I scanned into my dorm building, pressed all the necessary elevator buttons and shot into my dorm like a rocket. I ripped my clothes off and sat on the bathroom floor rocking back and forth, silently crying. My roommates were home and though they probably got that something was up by my instant bathroom usage, I didn't want them to hear me crying and breaking down. I got in the shower with the intent to wash the emotions out of me. I put Hurt by Johnny Cash on repeat and sat in the shower. I let it hit me as I let the emotions hit me. They would only control me tonight, now, not tomorrow. I stared at my wrist wondering if those kids in middle school had it right, would it feel better, would it relieve my pain? I decided, no. Feel this. Do not repress. Do not hurt yourself physically to try to "fix me" emotionally. After about 20 minutes, I stopped sobbing and just began singing. I felt better. I  I let it wash over me.

The next day, I felt sluggish, probably because I was up until 2am writing a dumb paper only to write it again from 10am until it was due at 3:30pm, but I still felt negative. I thought it would work like it did when I felt this before.

Perhaps some feelings don't leave overnight, maybe it takes time and slow reminders of our worthiness. I have so many things to be thankful for and so many talents that I am blessed with but also so many demons to overcome. Insecurity can sneak up on you and attack you like it did me. Don't fight it with numbing, ask it why. Why you are feeling it? Where did it come from? How can you help it leave you safely and permanently? At least that's what I'm trying to do.

I am worthy of love and acceptance and so are you, my dear reader. Also talk to someone if you're feeling like this. That's the real healthy way to deal with it. I'm gonna try my best to call someone and I hope you can too.

So with that, I leave you. I'll be back sooner next time, I promise.

Thanks for listening. Come back for more.

How Do You Do It?

Last Thursday, I was skyping my dear friend Cydnie Hampton. For those that don't know her, she is the New York version of me, only better.
We were talking about my current relationship and I told her that my boyfriend and I have been officially together for almost 2 months. She then asked how long we had been "talking".
I sat back for a second and counted the months. From March to November is 7 months. I said this number out loud. She was shocked, as was I. Could it really have been that long? I did take into account that he was gone for 3 months during the summer but we still remained "together." Even with him not physically here, I thought about how I have thought about him every day for the last 7 months. There hasn't been a day without his face popping into my head in over half a year. 4 months together, and 3 months apart. I, honestly, have forgotten that he was gone. Every once and a while, I'll have an out of body experience when I'm laying in his bed with his arms squeezing my tiny frame. I realize that I spent a whole summer longing for these moments and worrying that they wouldn't happen when he got back. I was terrified. Now I have a bag full of toiletries at his place I call my "Sunnyside Survival Kit," and a pair of UK pajama pants for the extra cold nights.
Cydnie then asked a question that I remember asking Jordan Cohen about her much longer term relationship of two and a half years.
"How do you do it? How do you stay with someone that long?"
My answer was along these lines:
"Well he asked me out, we went on a date, I wanted to see him again, so I did. Then I wanted to see him again, so I did. Then I wanted to see him again, so I did. And BAM, 7 months later here we are."
That's the only way I can describe the way I feel. I want to see him. I want to wake up next to him. I want him in my life. For right now, that's how I'm "doing it". I just keep saying yes.
Maybe it will get complicated. Maybe we'll soon find out a huge monster of a reason we will never work. Maybe, maybe, maybe. I'm done living by maybes. Especially in romance and love. I'm done planning and plotting. I'm done trying to make people stay and just enjoying them while they're here. I'm done being haunted by the 'what ifs'.  
We're a we as long as we will be. I can't be anything but grateful.
 

Thanks for listening. Come back for more.