At 22.

So last night after my improv class I had a moment.

Most of the class went to hang out afterward and we were all getting to know each other - where are you from?  Are you an actor, writer, both?  Excetera.  All of those basic "LA" questions for a group in a comedy class.  And then somehow age came up. "How old are you? Really?  Oh, me too. How old are you?"  All around the table. And there is a wide range in this class.  One guy is 40, another guy is 18.  Of the guys, the age range is twenty years wide.  But pretty much all of the girls, except me, are 22.  Now... they all thought I was their age so, you know, ego-boost.  But I'm not.  I'm 30.  And I remember being in NY when I was 22 and I remember being in class with women who were 30 and I remember thinking, "Oh man, I hope that I'm not still 'trying' when I'm 30."  And I remember feeling something akin to pity.  Because, at 22, I was convinced that my star would just burn so brightly that someone would see it.  Someone would immediately put me in a starring role - on Broadway, on TV, in a movie.  There was no way that by the time I was THIRTY, I'd still be pounding the pavement, taking classes, taking new head shots, hustling to be seen. And that might happen for some of these girls - they are so new at this game and most have been in LA for less than a year - they might get snatched up and be given a great opportunity and be on the fast track that I was sure, at 22, that I'd be on.  But, very likely, they'll find themselves eight years later - with accomplishments to be proud of along the way, but not exactly where they thought they'd be - in a bar, after a class, mingling with the new, fresh 20-somethings and they'll realize the age disparity and they'll remember me.  And they'll think, "Wait.  I'm as old as that girl from my Improv class years ago. The one I felt a little sorry for."  And they'll realize that time has flown and that they don't feel much different than they did at 22.  They'll think there is still a chance for greatness and opportunity.  The shininess of hope will be a little duller than it was at 22.  The shininess will have been dulled by years of "almosts" and "no, thanks" and "if onlys."  But it will still be there.  The hope.  And glimmers of it will shine through with every booked job and every "almost" and every friend that has a success story and every connection made.  It will shine through  as you hear stories of other great actors who have found their success later in life.  It will shine through as you write your own projects.  It will shine through as you see inspiring movies that prove there is a space for your work to be seen.  And then, at 30, you'll realize how foolish you were at 22 to limit your definition of success and limit those that didn't fit into that definition.  You'll realize that everyone has a different road and that those roads can't be compared.  But you'll also forgive yourself and be grateful for yourself at 22 because it took getting to 30 to realize any of it.