Sylvia, I understand your plight. Desperado Los
Angeles-style is never fun. It's very uncomfortable to feel the rug go out
from under you. In answer to your question about what to do when you feel
like you're falling apart -- and I know you're probably not going to initially
or ever like my answer (but, hey, that's what I'm here for) -- is to go
ahead and fall apart. I could say it again or you could just go back a
sentence and I'll wait for you. I'm glad you're back. Yes, that's
what I said. Whether you know it now or not is that the main discomfort
(pain, angst, anguish, urge to obliterate the person or persons who are breaking
the contract, going back on their word, leaving town) is your...
Yes, your resistance to the moment. Of course, you don't
really want the thing that is happening to happen, that thing presently
being your whole world apparently coming apart right before your very
eyes. You assumed that this person's or these persons' promise(s) were
binding. His/her or their signature(s) the final word. You were on
your way. This was it. You had so many expectations dashed before
that surely, this one time, everything was going to work out.
Congratulations on your courage to keep wishing and wanting (I think those are
words to some Burt Bacharach song), and don't ever stop. Ever. But,
also, along with fanning your flame of desire, keep a steady eye on the tendency
for the heart to take on a job it is not trained for. Doing windows.
No, that's not it. Reason. The heart does not reason well. If
you give it that task, you'll be caught in a swell of expectation (and that's
not swell. Sorry. Especially for the play on words. Really
So, that's what I mean by "go ahead and fall
apart." Don't try to hold the house of cards together.
(Remember: "The one who tries to hold the house of cards together is
really the joker"? I just made that up. Maybe I'll go into the
fortune cookie business.) The reason to do that is because, once you let
it all go, you'll automatically...
You'll be able to
(I've been diagnosed as having the obscure
You'll be able to think straight again -- which you're probably
not doing presently. Be able to consider new possibilities. New
alternatives. New ways to figure out how to wipe out the hard drives of
the name(s) on the now-worthless contract that could have catapulted you into
fame, glory, and a new outfit.
There's another way to look at the sudden dissolution of a
contract, and that is, despite your resistance to that occurrence, it was
supposed to happen and, ultimately, has happened for your own good. You
can think of this apparent disruption as a prelude to something coming that is
far beyond your imagination (you can almost hear Rod Serling, can't you?)
something so wonderful and far better than your original concept of success.
Actually, Sylvia, I see this as a golden opportunity to reach
deep within yourself and find out what you're really made of. To reaffirm
your goals and your passion to bring them about. Destruction is necessary
before transformation and rebuilding. The old must go before the new takes
place. Keep moving forward.
And no more signing contracts with invisible ink.