Reflections on 27

Reflections on 27

(Featuring pictures from my 26th year)

Topsfield Fair, Fall 2019 

Well, I’m 27.

Wow...27...where did that come from?

The love of my life and I on top of Iron Mountain, October 2019

It feels like yesterday I was making my final entrance as Meg March for Little Women: The Musical at East Rochester High School. Or curled up in my best friend's bed at Purchase College drinking beers, watching Colin Firth films, and talking about what parties we wanted to go to that night. I can still remember what it felt like to walk into Gloucester Stage Company for the first time, feet firmly planted on the concrete floor and the unpredictable cloud of my future lying before me.

At 27 I’m still very, very unsure of many things. This self isolation time we are in has caused many to be reflective on themselves, their future, and I have certainly not been untouched by this. This past weekend I chose to marathon The Lord of The Rings films (and before you ask of course it was the extended edition. What kind of heathen do you think I am?). These stories are full of incredible quotes and lessons. I feel I often pick the films up for a re-watch when I'm in need of a little inspiration. Of course a quote that is very relatable to our current predicament popped out to me the most this time around:

“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.
“So do I,” said Gandolf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.”

Time; that thing that has crippled me for a better part of my life. The fear that I am not doing enough with it. That for some reason, the way I pass the hours in my day are meaningless. If I’m not catapulting myself into the next chapter of my life then I must not be doing anything useful at all.

Marissa got married! Hammond Castle,
September 2019

So let’s look at how I spent 26. Around my birthday this time last year I decided to take a break from acting. I had taken on a full time job and used it as an excuse to put down the scripts, self tapes, and unsubscribe from all of my accounts with audition sites. I actively removed anything that related to performing from my space and stored them on a shelf out of my line of vision.

After performing this ritual, I felt a deep loss. A loss so inexplicable it felt like I was losing someone I dearly loved. Ever since I was a child all I wanted was to be an actor. I wanted to stand on stage, to sing, and act, and dance for an audience and feel their presence. Sense them following me and feeling with me. But since college, a switch had flipped in me. I realized I didn’t want to be an actor for the same reasons I used to. Every time I got a job I would dread showing up for the call. I didn’t enjoy the feeling of being on set and found I was only taking jobs for the money, I no longer cared about the stories I was telling or the work I was doing. I was grumpy, lethargic, and entirely un-grateful for anytime I was lucky enough to perform.

Post panic attack. Wearing Grandpas sweater.
Gloucester, Fall 2019

So I decided I needed to step away and reevaluate who I was. But at stepping away I realized I didn’t have an identity outside of being an actor. All of my hobbies were skill builders for performance, I didn’t have a single thing I did for the fun of it. So I started searching for new skills, new hobbies, new passions to enjoy that involved absolutely no financial gain or any purpose other than to make me happy. 

In November of 2019, I saw my Grandpa John Adamek for the last time. He didn’t pass away until January 2020 but I chose not to see him when he got really bad, he never would have wanted that anyway. In his last few months my grandfather became very sentimental which, for those who knew him, was very out of character for John Adamek. In my second to last visit with him he pulled me in close and became teary eyed. He said, “Caitie, all I want for you is to be happy. I just want your life to be full and you to be happy.” And as we cried together I realized that I needed a drastic change in my life. This year of exploration had been good for me but I needed something bigger, something that could really move me.

My brother is the cutest. Boston, Summer 2019

Recently, Ian and I have made a very big decision. With student loan debt a constant ball and chain around my ankle and Boston rent prices so obscene I can barely fathom them, we have decided to leave Boston and relocate to my hometown of Rochester, NY. We in fact already have a new apartment! It is a beautiful two bedroom located on Park Avenue, with a sunroom and a huge living room and a fireplace that I’m already planning how I will decorate for Christmas. A much needed upgrade from the studio we have been occupying for the past 2 years and at nearly half the cost.

But even this transition is coming with it’s own fears and trepidation's. Am I giving up on Boston too quickly? What will I do in Rochester? I have a lot of friends in the performing scene there, am I ready to dip my toes ever so slightly back into the waters? And then there is that sense of failure. As a kid, I always said I was going to get out of Rochester. I was a big city girl stuck in a small town and I needed to get out and show the world the incredible actor I am. I wanted to be that tortured artist, living in a swanky studio barely making ends meet but surrounded by art and friendship and music and all of those beautiful bits that make up that romanticized picture of a performer in New York.

Madeon concert, December 2019.

But I haven’t done that.

So did I fail? Because I’m moving home closer to family and familiarity does that mean I’m not a risk taker? I don’t know. Ian and my parents tell me I’m not a failure but at the end of the day I’m the only one who can decide that. I still look at my friends living in New York and London and LA working hard for their incredible careers and I feel a pang of jealousy. But I can’t yet decide if that is because I do actually want that life or I am still in the process of letting go of a version of myself I thought I would be.

Ian napping with Mew Mew on one of our many Rochester
road trips. Winter 2019

And then there is the issue of friends. I recently told Ian that, other than a select few people, I feel like I live this split life between Rochester and Boston. I had a number of complicated romances and friendships in Rochester, many of which did not come to clear ends or had very messy conclusions. In Boston, I can pretend those things don’t exist but when I’m back in Rochester I will most likely see those people. They may reach out to me, they may want to be my friend again. And I am so deeply afraid of the person who they want to be friends with. Is she someone I no longer am? Will I fall into my very classic tired pattern of halving myself for the pure approval of others? I just don’t know. But I know I will discover a new version of Caitlin by moving home, and it is something I don’t think I have the power to fully prepare for.

So what will 27 be? What will I do with the time I am given this year? As you can probably tell from this essay, I’m not entirely sure. But I can tell you a few things I can’t wait for:

Working at Boxaroo, Summer 2019

1. My new job. I mean I don’t have it yet, but whatever it is it’ll be an adventure. And I can’t wait for it.

New Mexico with my love. Summer 2019

2. Making a home. Ever since I left my beautiful beach apartment in Gloucester I have longed for the feeling of making a home for myself again. And this time I get to do it with the person I love more than any single human on this planet? God, I am so lucky

Fifth Depot Lake, August 2019. Thanks for reading <3

3. Growing. Growing with myself, growing with family, and growing with you. Whoever you are reading this. Every year can be a new chapter in your story if you let it. And I am very interested to see where this one takes me.