The Mystery of Happiness

"How lucky we are, when we're spared what we think we want!"  - Lionel Shriver

I read that quote in Shriver's brilliant novel We Need to Talk About Kevin (the film is great as well, but the book is filled with gems), and it resonated with me so much that I wrote it down everywhere-- on notebooks, bathroom stalls, other people's phones, soles of shoes, and all social media platforms.

It put into words a powerful realization I had made about myself and my life but didn't know how to describe. I seem to have less and less certainty of what makes me happy, and I think that's a very good thing to come to terms with.

There were many things I thought would make me happy. 

I thought being thin would make me happy. I thought having small, perkier breasts would make me happy. I thought expensive bags would make me happy. I thought being a movie star would make me happy. I thought having a tall handsome boyfriend who would one day become my husband would make me happy. I thought being financially independent would make me happy. I thought having clear skin would make me happy. I thought not having stretch-marks or cellulite would make me happy. I thought being blonde would make me happy.

As I look at that list now, I see all those things I thought would make me happy were just that: ideas. Moreover, they were not tied to any real understanding of happiness, but rather to a deep need to belong. I would look around, see what made other people fit in and be cool, and label it as a recipe for happiness. If I have that, if I look like that, if I do that, if I own that, then I'll be happy.

I did get a lot of the things on that list. Others I gave up on. Either way, happiness didn't come automatically with the package. Yes, there was a great deal of satisfaction in losing weight and in being seen next to tall handsome boyfriends, but I wasn't happy. I placed my happiness outside of myself, not only in these external "achievements," but in other people seeing me as good enough to have them.

It's comfortable to do what is believed to make us happy. Everyone is relieved when I'm thin, clear-skinned, financially independent, and next to a tall handsome man. Those are the things I'm supposed to want and, for long enough, they were exactly what I wanted. But it takes effort to maintain the illusion. One day you eat a cupcake, you get a pimple, you lose your job, your boyfriend bores you, and you wonder if it's possible that happiness lives in things that are inherently transitory.

In realizing this, I have felt both confused and clear. I look at myself, my life, my goals, and my dreams with new eyes. Is this really what I want, or is it what I think I want? Do I ever know what I want, or do I only ever get to know for certain what I don't want after I've had it? 
 
I always had clear pictures of my ideal future: married (to a tall handsome man), with children of my own, and traveling the world starring in movies and acting in plays. Now, those pictures are blurry. I don't want these things "in general" anymore. I still want them, but only if it feels like it's right for me when it happens, and not because they fit into this pretty picture that makes me, and everyone else, more comfortable.

Maybe I'll fall in love with a short chubby hairy man. Maybe I'll be a teacher and act in plays for free for a long time and it'll be okay. Maybe I'll live in a suburb. Maybe I'll have straw handbags. Maybe my boobs will sag and it won't be so bad. Maybe I'll gain five pounds instead of losing the always-goal ten. Maybe I'll stop getting pimples and start getting wrinkles and I'll miss my pimples. Maybe I'll adopt four Vietnamese girls and fall desperately in love with them. Maybe I'll be a single mom. Maybe I'll have three marriages. Maybe I'll make a big movie and miss acting in little plays. Maybe I'll shave my head. Maybe I'll be single for years. Who knows.

Whatever it is that I don't know I want, I am now open to it more than ever before, and I am so excited to live.

Image from here.

Have you been spared what you thought you wanted and now see how lucky you were?

A Heart's Gamble

Image from here.

Eyes smile at each other and touches linger. Flirtation plants its seed and desire waters it. Between would you like another drink and you're beautiful, we kiss. Boom boom double-boom, goes my heart, and in an instant smaller than a sigh, hope is born. 

Legs interlace, noses touch, hips kiss. Grr grr grrar, goes my body, and in between this is nice and yeah there, my armor falls to the floor. 

I am nervous, he touches my cheek and torsos piece into each other, a puzzle completed.

Vulnerable and hopeful, I rest on his chest and wait for his lips to find my forehead, his heart to find mine. 

But it doesn't. 

His body goes cold. I don't want to hurt you, I'm not ready for more than this, I don't want you to have expectations, his lips say instead. 

Boom. 

In a breath of space smaller than the sigh in which it was birthed, hope is killed. Desire vanishes, hearts hide.

I turn away and quickly touch my heart. Shh, little heart, it's okay. We'll be okay. We were too quick to trust. We know how this goes. Let's pack up and go now. 

I get up from the bed, and I feel a part of me stay there. That's the gamble; a part of us is always lost. Good bye, my sweet romantic girl. 

I pick up my armor from the floor and put it back on. It is heavier now.  I feel my edges sharpen, I am older. It will be harder to take off next time...

The Body Stories

Alongside Jeanne Joe Perrone, a fellow Actors Studio Drama School MFA graduate and boundlessly inventive artist, I have created my upcoming theater production, The Body Stories. A year in the making, and a lifetime in my heart, we are now producing this physical theater meets live art show that lets our bodies tell their stories. After all, we believe our bodies know more than we do. We are scheduled to perform on January 22nd, 2012, in Manhattan, and we are thrilled to share this rendition of our work with you! 

I struggled from an early age with body image issues. As a teenager in Brazil, the pressure from the media, the society I lived in, and the people around me skewed my perception of myself, to the point where I had three plastic surgeries by the age of 15, battled eating disorders, and underwent countless dangerous, expensive, and painful procedures in order to attain what I perceived as real beauty. Having survived my turbulent adolescent angst and violent insecurities, I arrived at adulthood with a new task: understanding my past and finding compassion for how I treated myself over those years. The arduous road ended at the expected destination: self-love and self-acceptance.

That I lived to tell this story is not something I take for granted. I know that body image issues are present in the lives of most teenagers and adults, especially women, and I feel in my heart that I have a responsibility to tell my story. I have found an artistic expression to my innermost scars with The Body Stories, and it is the most important piece of theater I have worked on to date. It is a message I am carrying because I have to; this story lives inside me, and it always will.

Jeanne Joe and I are driven by our love of theater and our need to tell these stories; that is our compensation. But, as you surely know, our production cannot go up on love alone. We are committed to creating this show with the lowest possible budget, with a goal of raising $1500 by November 1st, 2011. We are now requesting the contribution of our friends and families in making this project possible. Donations start at $10, and every penny helps us!

Your contribution is the lifeline of this production, and we are grateful for all donations of any monetary amount. Please visit our indigogo fundraiser website to make a donation and learn more about The Body Stories.

http://www.indiegogo.com/The-Body-Stories


Our gratitude for any and all donations is infinite. We cannot do what we do without your generous support. Please share our fundraiser campaign on your social media sites and help us promote this project.

To learn more about The Body Stories and find out ways to be involved, please feel free to contact us. If your body, too, has a story to tell, do not hesitate in reaching out to us. We are here to serve the material that already lives within us, and there are no limits to how much this project can grow.

Saving Money in New York City

Recently, I installed an app on my phone where I account for every penny I spend. As soon as I close my wallet, I reach for my phone and log in exactly what I just spent. Having to write down every single one of my expenses has been an eye-opener, and has kept me from going over my weekly budget. It has also shown me where I spend money unnecessarily, and how I can save money. I thought I'd share the places I've found I can really save money on, in case anyone else can use the tips, and maybe people will have other suggestions too.

1. Magazines or newspapers. Read them for free at Barnes & Nobles or online. I do like having the physical magazine, though, so for the ones I really want to have at home, it's time to woman up and get a subscription. Saves me about $50 a week.

2. Water. Fill up a water bottle at home with filtered tap water and don't buy water, ever. Not even $1.00 water bottles in the street. Saves me about $7 a day.

3. Coffee. Ah, this one was hard. No to Starbucks. No to Mud. No to deli coffee. No to iced coffee. No to lattes. I have coffee at home, I am perfectly capable of brewing it myself, and I have thermal cups if I need to travel with it. Plus, I really shouldn't drink more than three cups of coffee a day. This was tough, but it saves me $100 a week, at least.

4. Manicures. I hate going to salons anyway, and they do such a shitty job of it here in the States (compared to Brazil), and charge so much for it, I'm better off doing my nails myself. Going to the manicurist will have to be saved for special occasions. Oh well. Saves me $16.00 a week.

5. Books. I have always justified spending money on books because, well, they're books. They're the best thing to spend money on! They feed my brain, my soul, my heart. They educate me, they inspire me, they make me a better person. They make time pass. But books can be expensive. So, no more new books. I have a membership to the New York Public Library, and it's time I start using it. Time to start checking out books, and not paying a dime for the knowledge and entertainment they provide me with. And, if I really really really want to own a book, buying a used copy online is the cheapest option. I can't even calculate how much money this saves me- that's how many books I buy.

6. Transportation. A single subway ride in New York City costs $2.25. A monthly unlimited pass costs over $100. A cab from my apartment to Times Square, say, costs about $12.00. So, it's summer. Time to start walking. Also, I'm thinking of getting a bike. The savings would be insane.

7. Food. This is probably the hardest one. I have the habit of going out to eat at least three times a week. It's part of the culture of this city; there are so many options, and many of them trick you. Sure, a $15 dinner is pretty cheap. But it's still not as cheap as making food at home. I usually buy my lunch, every day. Convenience plus the social aspect of this habit makes it a really hard one to give up. But it's got to go. I can save up to $200 a week if I cook at home and pack my lunch every day. Time to have people over for dinner, and save dining out for when I'm rich and famous, or on a date with someone who wants to pick up the check (feminists around the world, let us sigh).

And this is how I'm learning to be smarter with my money. I recommend keeping track of one's expenses to anyone and everyone. It's life-changing.

 image from here.

A Change of Heart

Amidst days of boredom and rain, I had a strange realization. I can no longer love someone who doesn't love me. It used to be possible- I had my heart broken enough times by people whom I loved dearly but who did not return the sentiment to know that it was possible.

And then, one day, it wasn't possible anymore. Even though I thought it might be worth the risk, my heart wouldn't budge. No, it stubbornly persisted, I will not love just anyone anymore. I want to be loved in return.

Maybe it's experience. Maturity. Growth.

Or maybe my heart has hardened and developed caution. It is no longer an innocent child, or a willing adolescent. I'm an adult, after all, and so my heart responds accordingly.

I do not know whether to be happy or sad. I just know that I have changed, and so has my ability to love.

Adulthood's Ugly Face

One day I woke up and watched myself shower, put on responsible-looking clothes, paint my face into a grown-up woman's complexion, drink my coffee, eat my poached egg on toast, pack my laptop into my bag, head off to work, sit in front of a computer all day, do tasks that neither interest nor fulfill me, watch the clock, wait for the day to end, come home too tired to socialize or blog or work out or return calls or respond to emails, eat something, and finally go back to sleep which was only comforting because it was not like the day it followed. And so I realized that I had finally met someone I'd observed from afar all my life, someone many people around me had known for a long time. That someone was called Adulthood.

Adulthood has taken over me for the past month or so, and I have slowly been introduced to responsibility, compromise, and a desire for independence. Perhaps for most people all this seems normal, or like "it's about time"- I'm 25 after all, but for me it has been completely jarring and, in many ways, really difficult and sad.

I've always had one goal. I've always known who I was. I've always made every decision based on how it would best serve the one thing I knew I was meant to do. For as long as I can remember, I have only ever lived to be an actress. Since my parents always had enough money and since I wasn't raised in a culture that encouraged financial independence at age 18, I figured I wouldn't ever have to compromise what I wanted to do, what I was meant to do, for the sake of a paycheck or stability. But I also thought I'd have it figured out by the time I was 25. That I'd have a path drawn out, that I'd be closer to success and recognition, that I'd be able to make a living with acting, or that I'd be able to make a living somehow and still act.

As it turns out, I'm 25 and I have a master's degree in what I love doing but I don't know how to do it for a living. I'm tired of being dependent, and the acting industry has completely burnt me out. Auditions make me feel like a puppet, rejections make me feel unworthy, and playing roles that don't mean anything to me leave me unfulfilled and wanting more. So I sought a more regular lifestyle, found it, and have slowly gravitated towards letting it take over my life. The less I think about acting and how little of it I'm doing, the less it can hurt me. And if I'm the one who shuts down my dream, then at least no one else can crush it.

But the result is that my heart is breaking every day, as though I'd just buried my Self and am in mourning. Going through the motions of adulthood exhaust me, pretending I can do it permanently nearly kills me. Not to mention how mad Little Larissa is at me. My 7-year-old self is scolding me, shaking her finger at me, "You can't just give up! How can you give up?? These are our dreams! We've wished them into fountains all our lives!" And I don't really know what to tell her. It's just time, I want to say, I have to do something else now, for a while, I have to figure out my life, I have to be responsible. But she wouldn't understand it. I hardly understand it myself.

Who I am is an actress, I know that like I know my name. But how long can a dream be sustained for when it exists only as something we wish upon a star? At some point it has to either materialize or be discarded, it seems. And I've been lost. I've been terrified of going through another year of the same bullshit auditions for unpaid projects that aren't even that good. I'm tired and I'm not happy. The idea of giving up on acting brings me even further down, but I can't keep doing it and not making a living either.

So here I am, staring at Adulthood but still clinging on to my dreams and idealizations of life, not quite ready to let go yet. Getting scolded by my inner child, but looking at my life as it is and knowing that something has to change.

I'm looking for signs, I'm waiting for clarity, I'm hoping for solutions.

I'm staring at myself and, for the first time in my whole life, I'm wondering who I am.