If I was a rich man, I would have a right proper mid life crisis. I suppose that is a very sexist idea that you need to be a male to have a torrid affair with someone half your age and get yourself that expensive vehicle. Both of those things sound like too much work. My back has been acting up. I can’t even imagine hoisting myself out of a sports car that is lower profile than my low-profile hybrid. So instead, I will only have the existential crisis part of my (late) mid-life crisis. That big birthday will be celebrated with a trip to Austin, Texas, because I do in fact realize how lucky I am to have gotten here.
I can’t help but look back and play the “what if” game. There was no one who could have talked me out of an artistic career path. I was delusional when I left college. Thinking somehow, I would be able to break thru with my set of physical attributes and yet the career that followed would have seemed more insane. I ended up dancing enough in tv/film projects to be vested in my union. It was not my dream, but it was “a” dream.
Thirty years ago, in 1993 B.L. (Before Lizzo), no one who looked like me got paid to dance. And that is not my take on reality. I was the only one in the Screen Actors Guild who had my body type getting paid to shake what her mama gave her. If you go on social media or watch film/tv today, you can see women of all shapes and sizes dancing
