NO TIME FOR QUIPPY TITLE BECAUSE STRESS

on learning (or not learning) to say no

In exactly 5 weeks, I will be presenting the first ever iteration of my new show How To Stay Hopeful.

If you want the synopsis, it is as follows;

In a world that can often feel disconnected, one person's act of reaching out sparked an incredible chain of events. Georgie shares the remarkable story that unfolded when she sent hundreds of handwritten postcards in search of human connection.
What began as a simple gesture became a powerful testament to hope, kindness, and the enduring strength of the human spirit.

I didn’t write that by the way, I would never have used so many confidently hyperbolic adjectives to describe a show I’ve never performed before.
It’s my newest spoken word hour, of which I have currently written just under 20 minutes.
Gulp. Gasp. Panic in the corner. Do a little sick in the bin.

5 weeks feels like enough time to get it done though, right? 5 weeks feels like ages, you could do loads of stuff in 5 weeks; watch The Sound of Music 333 times, walk 134 laps around the coast of Bora Bora, roast 560 chickens, although when you’re working with that quantity, it feels slightly more appropriate to say massacre 560 chickens.
As for the show, let’s work it backwards shall we.
I’m performing on the 17th, which means that by the 10th I’d really like to be off book, to know the show by heart and feel comfortable enough to not rely on any kind of script or cue cards.
Which means I need to have all edits made by the 9th.
Which means I need to have the first draft done by the 2nd.
Which means I have 3 weeks to write the remaining 40 minutes.

This kind of feels like that scene in Friends, when Rachel turns 30 and furrows her brow thinking about the future of her relationship with Tag based on her desire to have children. She’s feeling fine about it, until she calculates how long she’d like to date the guy before getting engaged and how long she’d like to be engaged before they get married, then how long she'd like to be married before they have kids, before concluding the only option is to remove two candles from the cake and turn 28 instead of 30 to give herself sufficient time.

Well gang, I don’t have candles, I don’t have a cake, and I’m not entirely sure that logic translates in this instance anyway.

Is it doable? Sure.

But what I haven’t factored into my precise and scientific calculations is all the other stuff that needs to happen in the next 5 weeks; my best pals wedding, the immersive exhibition I’m curating with my brother happening the week after the show, the long weekend away for Jo’s birthday, the university lecture I’ve been asked to give (I know, absolute lol), the commissions I’ve got to finish, the workshops I’ve got to run, the poem and speech for the aforementioned wedding that are in need of final edits. Scuse me, I mean that are in need of entirely bringing into existence.

Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do. I wouldn’t change it for the world (partly because, after 10 years, I wouldn’t know how to change it for the world). But if you’re waiting on a reply from me, you might be waiting a teeny tiny bit longer. Sorry.

I recently rekindled a friendship with my wonderful pal from University.
Mate I’ve just seen you on the telly! She exclaims into my DM’s.
I couldn’t believe it was you, then I went onto your instagram, you’re absolutely smashing it!

Ah, the highlight reel that is social media strikes again. A glossy, filtered carousel of exclusively best bits.
What I don’t (but maybe should) put online is the fact that I haven’t hung out with my pals in weeks, I’ve missed camping trips and BBQ’s in the park, I haven’t even seen my housemates and we literally live in the same flat. I don’t call my parents as much as I’d like to, I’m not sleeping very well or drinking enough water and I can’t remember the last time I ate a vegetable.

When you cautiously tiptoe into freelance life, people will tell you when you do what you love, you’ll never work a day in your life, but what they neglect to mention is that you’ll also say yes to absolutely everything, without really thinking it through, for fear the work will dry up and render you directionless and confined to your little existential corner (bed).

I’m genuinely excited about this show, and the truth is, without this enormous, all-consuming fire under my arse, I probably wouldn’t be writing it at all. Pressure makes diamonds and all that jazz.
But how do you stay present when you’re feeling The Whelm?
I want to savor every task on my to-do list because, honestly, how touching is it to be asked to say something heartfelt as your best friends tie the knot? What a genuine honour to be trusted to create something beautiful and commemorative. And isn’t it my absolute dream to write and perform a show.

It’s a privileged problem to have, I know.
Sorry I can’t come to brunch because there are too many exciting things happening.
But when the workload is great, it’s hard to revel, it’s hard to feel any of the excitement. I’m just charging forward, taking as large strides as possible so I come out the other side before I run out of breath.

So what’s the lesson?
Well, I’d like to be better at acknowledging my limits and recognising that saying no doesn’t mean failing; it means valuing what truly matters. As tempting as it is to spin as many plates as possible, I’ve only got two hands. So with all the dexterity and will in the world, the reality is that some plates will wobble, and a fair few might crash. Instead of spinning every single plate in sight, it might be better to focus on the ones that truly matter.
Also, to increase the vegetable intake would be brill.