Jennifer Carroll Aug 27, 2009

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Jennifer Carroll is a 21 year old actor and writer. She first began writing for the Uxbridge Cosmos in 2007 when she had the opportunity to share her experiences as a Canadian ambassador for an international conference for women in Dubai. At the beginning of 2008, she moved to Ireland to pursue a career in theatre and film. Far From Home is her monthly account on living and working in Dublin.

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Stories and slashes

This pain is a chronic twinge.
It's a long, meandering, relentless sort of pain that has become a familiar demon in my day to day. It wakes me up, nudging at the side of my mind. It follows me around the house as I inhale my morning cup of coffee. It creeps behind me as I work through my day, pounding the now familiar pavement.
It's a pain that comes with absence, one that fills a growing gap in my heart. It steels my nerves and makes me stronger, but when it never leaves me, never graces me with relief, I can feel it slowly pulling me down.
Sometimes it takes my breath away. Sometimes it doubles me over sideways. Sometimes it pierces behind my eyes, nearly blinding me. No matter how it attacks me, this pain constantly darkens my thoughts and clouds my mind.
Where did it come from? What haunts me is why I can't identify the source of this hurting. My months are bleeding into each other and I get lost in this haze. My path seems to have no direction. Where am I going? Why do I think I belong here? What do I have to offer? The questions scare me and even armed with tenacity, pride and self confidence, I sometimes waver.
I've been so terribly comfortable my whole life, so terribly sure of myself. I'm across oceans to find myself, to live beyond what I know, who I know myself to be. I want to be uncomfortable. It will give me range, make me a better actor. I mean to live. I mean to create something powerful, something real, fantastic, provoking. I don't care for art that has no sense of authenticity, of no real connection to the human beings it examines. Hunger, greed, power, despair, passion, love… none of that matters on stage if it's not authentic. I want to experience pain and longing authentically, deep in my gut.
The stage has become a distant love, one that grabs at my heart while pulling further away from me day by day. I feel so disconnected from it, yet so bound. I know my time will come, when my fighting has paid off and I get back where I belong, under stage lights. Until then, I'll masochistically savour this chronic ache. I'll enjoy the agony and frustration, and benefit from expanding my depth of emotion. Every bit of every new feeling is like emotional gold to me.
Because out of the emotional depths come the most interesting creations. And I'm discovering now, that I'm here in order to learn how to create. The Irish are the most stunning storytellers. They weave language seamlessly in and out of anecdotes, effortlessly drawing smiles, giggles, tears and gasps of surprise from their audience. From the gruff fishers from Inish Oirr to the charismatic old mams from North side Dublin to the politically savvy (and vocal) young taxi drivers from the North… the Irish all have a story to tell, and know how to tell it. So many of my favourite memories come from sitting in a pub, listening in awe or delight to a friend or stranger spin words into gold. I want to remember them all, to capture everything. I'm living in the worst economic downturn since the Second World War. Stories are how the Irish survive.
So I'm going to swallow my pain and convert it into the desperate pursuit of a story. I'm going to clap a video camera to my hand and capture those stories that illuminate the city. Because it's through those tales that people endure the weight of life. There's a larger story within all of these tales. I want to find it and find a way to make them matter.
Your muscles tear and heal themselves over and over to grow and become stronger. This pain of mine is a million little slashes in my artistic muscles. It will make me stronger, will force me to grow. It won't be comfortable, but maybe out of it I'll create something that matters.