A Zak Barnett Studios long-time student and enthusiast of all things acting and self-discovery, Ava Marilyn seeks to capture the essence of the studio in her writing through her weekly personal experiences and epiphanies and her findings about the deeper self and others. Through these diary entry-type updates from someone actively studying and working through the industry, she hopes to provide an insider’s look into the studio itself, its practices, and its impact.
So, I graduated college recently. So now it’s processing, reflecting, treasuring, and feeling feelings time.
As I settle into this post-grad life, I find myself in yet another major transition.
This is the life I’ve chosen… one of risk and uncertainty, brave changes and bold choices. It’s interesting how I’ll finally arrive at a sense of comfort and rhythm, and then life knocks me off balance and sends me swiftly to the starting line.
There’s something about the end of this last chapter that feels more painful than any of the others. I suppose that’s because it’s the one I’m currently in. This goodbye marks the end of a community, a family, a routine, a home. The life I spent the past four years carefully curating is being completely uprooted, and I’m supposed to be excited about it, I think. I’m not dreading it necessarily, but being excited is a hard one to achieve.
And yet, somehow, in the middle of the grief and confusion, I actually am excited.
I get to be both. I’m in a duality of experiences, trying to give attention to the lessons in each. For the first time in my life, my calendar is wide open.
I don’t have to divide my energy in a dozen directions, constantly saying, I’ll focus on my passions when this is done, when I have time. Now, I have nothing but time. Maybe too much.
I’m only a few months in, already bored and somehow still stressed. Maybe my body is just recovering from a lifetime of test anxiety and deadline dread, but I feel antsy—like I should be doing something, I’m forgetting something, or I’m just not being productive enough.
I told myself the second I graduated, the adventures would begin, and I could solely pour myself into acting. From here on out, I’d say yes to any opportunity that might lead to something memorable. I decided now that I have the time, I’ll risk, surprise, and discover.
But the truth is, I haven’t taken any risks yet. I haven’t done much of anything productive actually. I’ve spent the past week sleeping, reading, and slowly ticking movies off my to-watch list. This whole time, I have been consuming art instead of creating it.
I’ve made a somewhat shocking discovery. I’m finding value in what feels like a stale time. I’m going deeper within, seeing further out, feeling more peaceful, more “grown-up.” And I think I’m getting somewhere.
There seems to be a colossal sense of pressure to immediately start chasing dreams and making big moves. And while part of me wants this, another part knows I need to pause. I need to breathe. I need to self-reflect and slow down.
I need my mind to slow down. I need to feel good about allowing that.
I need to – dare I say – be bored—because that’s a luxury I haven’t allowed myself in I don’t know how long.
I need headspace to sit within my mind, my heart, and my craft.
I need to stitch them back together, as it were. I use this season to ask myself: What truly matters to me? What am I passionate about? What’s my next move, and how do I get there? What do I want to devote myself to now that I finally have the clearing?
Perhaps creativity is nurtured in boredom. In the quiet. In simply watching the world without distraction. It’s in that stillness that my mind can rest, and my hopes can start to take shape. And I’m refreshed. Maybe I can find what I’ve been looking for in the empty places, the silent corners, or even as I watch others still hurrying.
I have a lot of goals; a lot I want to accomplish now that school is behind me. I’ve always said I never want to feel too content. I’m not great at sitting still. My mind constantly looks for noise and movement. But that endless stimulation wears me down. Even when I’m inspired, I sometimes get stuck, paralyzed by my own momentum.
This transition, as painful as it is, feels like a rare chance to reset. I want to return to my craft with fresh eyes. I want to lead with discovery. And all those risks I talk about taking in my work? I want to start taking them in my everyday life too.
Eventually.
