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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Growing Pains
I feel stronger and tougher.
I feel that I've hit my stride.
I feel as if, maybe, I've come to know myself a little more.
This may sound naïve and a bit precious, but I've come to realize there are points in your life where you can physically feel yourself growing up. Emotional growing pains, ones you can feel in the exact moment they happen. Many people place me beyond my 21 years, and I surprise them when I divulge that I'm not, in fact, 25, 28 or even 32. Growing up, I seemed to lack the juvenility of many of my peers. I've always felt a certain sagacity that lives in my bones, a sense that matured my judgment and behaviour early on. My mind and character have always lived on an older plane than my biological time clock. It meant I knew who I was from a very young age. There has been very little soul searching throughout my adolescence, any juvenile insecurity obscured by an unwavering conviction for what I believe.
I could probably call the last twelve months the youngest year of my life. I can't remember ever feeling so unsure, unguided, unfamiliar and scared. Everything I know to be absolute and true is tried on a daily basis. The blacks and whites of my moral compass are trying to smudge themselves together into a pale, queasy shade of grey. Many people laugh at my adolescent slant on life, assuring me I'll learn to compromise, to settle and feel more balanced once I learn to do so. With my eyes full of wonder, I find the foundations of my beliefs dismissed in the face of “the way things work”. I'm told to listen to those who know better, who have been around longer, who have gained the furthest ground.
But I ask you: at what price have they survived? At a casting symposium, I sat in shock as I listen to respected casting directors tell me that the best way to advance my career is through “star ratings” and staying on the crest of “what's hot”. Integrity, quality of work and passion were the furthest concepts from their lips. They lectured on appeasing the financiers that sit in the board room of a studio, of creating your own celebrity and molding yourself into whatever is bankable, safe and trendy. I thought, are they serious? Can they not hear the words coming out of their mouths?! Is this the same industry I fell in love with in theatre school?
And so I feel myself growing. I feel it as it happens, because it's painful, it's uncomfortable, and it's frightening. Like growing taller, my vision and perspective are changing, and I can feel myself adapting to my new awareness. I see the same things, but with a different set of conditions applied.
My absolutes haven't wavered - I still refuse to live in a compromised shade of grey. Conceding my self is not an option. But I'm more aware of the uphill battle I face, of the severity of the incline and the weight bearing down on me as I ascend. And I'm not resentful of it. I understand now exactly what it means to fight for a conviction. The battle is no longer a beautiful idea or a romantic notion, but cold reality which I face daily. I could feel those growing pains in me as I stood in the dark of the city one night, leaning into the wind over the Liffey, the strength of the breeze forcing the recognition into view.
And so I continue stubbornly, taking baby steps, and I can feel them paying off. This month I signed with an agent I respect. With so few agencies in Dublin, it's difficult to sign with one who represents you accurately as an actor. Lorraine is honest, tough, fair and passionate. I'm excited for the road ahead with her. I turned down multiple agents and I can breathe a shaky sigh of relief, knowing that my tenacity pays off every once in a while. I'm producing a show for the first time. I've enjoyed watching it take over my life. The learning curve has been exceptionally steep, but it's making me a more self sufficient actor, and I love the challenge. The networking I'm doing doesn't hurt, either. And for each audition I go to, I know I need to leave all of myself on the stage. There's no time, money or chance to spare. If I don't give everything I have as an actor to my work, I might as well not bother at all. I'm living my life on the edge of a precipice, and the stakes are higher than I can express.
I'm growing everyday and even though most of the time it's terrifying, the tingling in my bones and my fingertips reassures me that the terror is coupled with delight. I'm not sure how to label this varying breadth of emotion yet, but I'll call it progress.
Children know what they're doing. They live for the moment, take the most chances and have the greatest aptitude for discovery, not to mention they possess a healthy imagination and a love of life. So I welcome my delayed adolescence and I'll strive to keep my eyes full of wonder and my heart full of reckless hope. I reckon it may be the only way to nurture my allegedly juvenile ideals, which aren't going anywhere without a fight.
