I'm going Hollywood

How Doechii and a 102 fever made my path clear. It's time to channel my inner STAR.

Photo by Nathan DeFiesta on Unsplash

I famously love a plan, or at least the idea that one exists. I see echoes of this in my journals, which date back to kindergarten and are almost exclusively focused on my career. There were age markers and milestones to be checked off so that I would achieve whatever I set out to do.

At 6, I was determined, fresh off a class in my pink ballet shoes and black velvet leotard, that I would, within a few years, become the youngest ballerina to star in The Nutcracker (I assume this was the only point of reference I had — but SLAY baby JT)

By 10, I locked in on a career as an actress. Supportive in my Delulu, my parents took me to acting class every week, where a questionable man in his 20s made us think about how it would feel to watch the person we loved the most die to help us tap into our raw emotions—a recipe for a panic attack and a dream deferred. But still, I walked out on the stage at the end of the course to a comically large theater in New Jersey to perform my scene. I was on crutches because I had twisted my ankle playing softball — one of many sports-related injuries that eventually allowed my parents and I to agree that perhaps team sports wouldn’t be my jam…and that was OK.

At 12, I was sure I’d be a talk show host and had already started to lay out the extracurricular activities that would get me accepted to my dream school – NYU. Spoiler: I didn’t get in.

I’ll spare you the yearly breakdown of career shifts, or perhaps save those for another post, because now – I am a 32-year-old lil bit of everything.

• I write freelance for mags like Women’s Health and PEOPLE.

• I help business owners craft their founder stories.

• I am a copywriting voice shifter, able to capture client’s tones like magic and turn them into marketing materials.

• I write newsletters for clients.

• I teach yoga and barre to the lovely gals of suburban central NJ.

• I lead workshops about storytelling …. and nervous system regulation.

• I do social media and PR for my family’s restaurant + others

• I walk dogs and watch cats.

• I care for my grandparents, who I see and help daily (this may be my favorite job at the moment, even if it’s unpaid and at times stressful)

And as I was struck down with the stomach flu from hell over the last few days, I thought to myself…WTF is all of this for? Have I let my scatterbrain take over?

Am I committing to being a Jackie of all trades and a master of none? Maybe it is time to…get a normal job? Where I punch in and out? And stop living invoice to invoice, gig to gig, miracle to miracle. This, combined with the actual shitstorm of political news that’s clogged my creative pipes since election day, made me feel defeated.

When my fever broke last night, I caught up on the Grammys and watched slack-jawed as Doechii pulled out another true artistic masterpiece that required at least 10 views from my phone and another 10 from my laptop. (I’m still operating from Club Bed, but I’ll watch it on my BIG SCREEN soon).

doechii

A post shared by @doechii

I’ve been listening to and watching Doechii for a while (Yucky Blucky Fruitcake…IYKYK), but this performance lit a new fire. I remembered her vlogs about re-working The Artists Way, a book I picked up, started a virtual book club for, and then abandoned last year. Shit. I am not following THROUGH.

In one of those vlogs, she said something that, upon a relisten today, hit me like an Amtrak train.

“It’s not talent that will bring you to center stage. It is the audacity the nerve of you.”

The NERVE. It’s easy to create quietly. To share when you know the feedback will be good, or never share at all. But that’s not how you get to the places I want to go – sold-out book tours, speaking to thousands, cover story writing LEGEND. That’s how you end up unhappy and unfulfilled with a kid on your hip who you can’t even look in the eyes. I want to look my daughter in the eye someday and tell her I fucking went for it. But how?

I stumbled upon a clip about Doechii and the concept of creative restrictions (thank you algorithm). I found out she wrote, recorded, and produced her album “Alligator Bites Never Heal” in…30 days! What Nicky Reardon, the creator who posted about this, posits is that when you set a restriction as an artist – it can help you create more.

I have always known this on some level (read: above love of plans), but I think I’ve forgotten about setting the little milestones in my strides toward entrepreneurship. And accountability! Because when I was 12 and positive a degree from NYU would unlock all of my dreams, it was easy to imagine checking off that goal. What I never planned for was what would happen after.

What do you do when you’ve done your “dream job” and realized it wasn’t so dreamy? You come up with another dream. And quick.

There is more nuance in the lengthy, creative career I know I will have. In 2025, I am implementing CREATIVE DISCIPLINE and RESTRICTION. (If you know me, I run from structure. I like to come up with plans, stick to them…ehhhhh)

What am I going to do? Move to Hollywood! Become the next rap sensation! (Jk)

But I will dedicate this year to my creative pursuits and channel my STAR ENERGY. Things like…

• Finish an essay in 3 weeks versus the 10 years some of my dusty Google drives have been sitting, waiting for a chance to be READ.

• Post to this Substack regularly instead of waiting to plan out days of content and launch in months, years, or never.

• Host the writing group I’ve been thinking about for the last year…even if especially if they’re not perfect yet.

• Launch my freakin’ podcast

• Finish The Artist’s Way goddammit! (If I try to start another book club, though…truly IGNORE ME)

And probably some more magic I don’t know yet because, TBH, my brain is still rather foggy!

Thank you, stomach flu, fever-induced hallucinations, and Doechii. More art loading…