Markers, Milestones, and Bumps Along the Road
by Jenna Pastuszek
Among many things I’ve learned over the past nine months, the most palpable lesson has been the harsh reminder that we don’t actually have as much control over things as we’d like to think.
“I am the one thing in life I can control.” My favorite line from Hamilton, and the only thing I’ve ever contemplated getting inked on my body, rings loudly in my ears.
We can’t control the timing of a global pandemic. We can’t ask it to show up next Tuesday instead of this Tuesday so that we can still do the thing we were looking forward to this week. It rapidly appeared and swiftly changed and canceled all of our plans. It interrupted any ideas we had previously had of what should happen and when. And even once it’s wrangled and the vaccine is widely available, we can’t predict the vast impact that this historic, global event will have economically, emotionally, mentally, and physically on all of us and on our theatrical institutions.
<Insert a Leslie Odom Jr. sound bite here> to kindly remind us that what we can control are ourselves: the stories we tell ourselves, the stories we tell others about ourselves, and the frames we use to look at the world, the people, and the things around us.
I have spent the last ten years on a quest for the one thing that I believed would prove to others that I was and make me feel that I am successful: Broadway. I have had complete tunnel vision, choosing only to look ahead to check how close or how far I am from reaching my destination, downplaying every other milestone, marker, and unexpected bump along the path. That is, until a highly contagious virus shut down the industry, killed my father-in-law, upended my Brooklyn existence, and forced me to find a new path forward.
In April, I had a meltdown in front of some very kind strangers in a zoom breakout room during a JWS Online class when I had to verbally admit the scary, harsh reality of being a woman a little over 25…okay, okay in her 30s…with a biological clock ticking just as fast as an internal “hurry up and get discovered” industry prescribed time bomb. The Broadway shut down was far from a favor to the timeline my unsympathetic screaming ovaries, dying eggs, and almost “geriatric” reproductive system had in mind.
In August, I admitted the full truth of the matter to a brilliant, wonderful friend and client: “I am afraid of attempting motherhood before I “make it” because I’m worried about resenting my hypothetical future offspring for getting in the way of me ever feeling successful.” She graciously listened, nodding empathetically, and then generously said, “But Jenna, you’re already a mom. You’re our voice mom. And how awesome would it be if maybe, at your eventual Broadway debut, your child was sitting in the orchestra looking up at you, smiling, and watching you shine? What if you could share that moment with your kid? And what if, in their eyes, you’re already a success simply just by being their mom?”
Well. That left me in a snotty puddle on the hypothetical scenario floor.
And when I finally collected myself, I suddenly realized that for the past ten years, I have been lying face down, crawling through a dark tunnel, and I had to get up. I had to get up SO THAT I could find my way out of the tunnel to be able to see and appreciate all of the other milestones and markers that have come along my path over the past decade, without Broadway. I had to get up, get out, and go see. Perhaps seeing and acknowledging those now will help me feel a little successful. And why wait any longer than I already have to celebrate a few small accomplishments? What’s the point in punishing myself by waiting?
So, has the pandemic altered my Broadway course? Is that it? Is my proposed destination changing?
Hell no, I’m still going for it. And now, thanks to 2020, I’m embracing having to reroute and try another way, with a few more victory pit stops.
Am I pregnant? No, no, no, my ovaries are still screaming. They’ll keep yelling until they’re satisfied or dead, and I’m choosing to ignore them. For now, I’m embracing my already existing maternal instincts by celebrating the many, many accomplishments of my incredible voice children (#supportkangaroo).
To identify some success, I’ve created a new 3-step road map to get me to the end of 2020 and into 2021.
1. “Takin’ stock of what I have and what I haven’t, what do I find? The things I have will keep me satisfied.”
Like Annie Get Your Gun, I’m going to take some stock. I’m going to sit down, and as Meredith Fineman suggests in her BRILLIANTLY JAW DROPPING MIND BLOWING GO-BUY-IT-NOW BOOK, Brag Better, I’m going to compile my self-stats. I will create a list of things that I have done over the past ten years that I’m proud of, without Broadway.
2. I’m going to pick a word for 2021 (Thanks to Becca Brunelle for the idea). My word is Expansive.
Just like the ocean has a pulse, a rhythm, a rise and a fall, it also has the ability to stretch farther than the eye can see and deeper than humans even know about! It has multiple brilliant shades of blue and green and an incredible variety of species that call it home. So, I, too, will be expansive just like my favorite body of water, the ocean.
3. I will commit to catching the curve balls that life throws at me, saying “Yes AND” upon receipt. I will also commit to throwing life some curve balls back and daring it to “Yes AND” me too.
I can’t control a lot of things. But I can control what I choose to see and how I choose to feel about my contributions. F*ck, surviving 2020 in and of itself is a victory worth celebrating.
Where do you have tunnel vision? If you get up, get out, and go see, what might you discover?
Where can you take your hands off the wheel, release your grip, and notice a rest stop in your life?
What’s your word of 2021?
What’s something you’re proud of doing this year?
