I met a dog named Bo Diddly on Sunday night; it was the highlight of my weekend, despite my drunken antics born out of pure adrenaline and anxiety on Friday night.
Meeting Bo Diddly reminded me of simpler times, when my claim to fame and point of pride was being able to sing the K-9 Advantix commercial jingles from memory without missing a word. I’m really glad I didn’t end up doing that on Friday night.
I don’t know what my claim to fame will be, or if I will stumble upon any level of recognition close to fame, but I’m still hustling at this writing thing. I’m not chipping away at the illusive novel I’ve been writing in my head for years as easily as I’d like to, but I suppose for now I’ll be content with any sort of practice, even if it’s just this blog. Even if it means jotting down lines in my journal to be visited another time.
Months ago a friend asked me for a favor, and it entailed doing something I’ve never done before that struck me with a lightning bolt of nervous fear. The voice inside my head screamed “DO IT” during the entire phone call, yet there was still this tug of reluctance pulling from the other direction. Self-doubt nagged at me like a mosquito bite that won’t stop itching.
That was a lot of random information just to set up a simple fact:
I read my own original writing in front of a room full of strangers on Friday night.
I curled my hair, slipped on my favorite dress, and got up on a stage with bright lights beaming down on me. It was a personal miracle, something I was terrified to do for years for fear of judgement, which in hindsight doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. Who you are and what you do will never be everyone’s cup of tea, no harm no foul as long as they aren’t an ass about it. There were no hecklers or tomatoes hurled in my general direction, not that I expected such a scene to unfold, especially at an event raising money for charity. If I learned anything from Friday night it’s that you can stand in your own way for as long as you want, waiting for the right moment to do something that gives you anxiety induced terror, and I can promise you this is a surefire way to stand in the path of all the great things waiting on the other side of that fear. I also learned never to trust tequila again, not that I trusted her much in the first place. She makes me dance like a fiend.
Some nights are magic, Friday was absolute magic. I got to share a stage with so many talented people rallying around me and cheering me on, even people I’d only met hours before. Nothing beat the feeling of people wandering up to me throughout the night to tell me how much they related to my words, the words I sat and wrote in my little corner of the world. One woman even stopped me in the bathroom while I was washing my hands to tell me how much she loved one of my poems. Putting your art out into the world can sometimes feel like shoving it into a vacuum, unsure of where it will land or who will stumble across it. We should stop lying to ourselves by saying we make art only for ourselves, because I think at the end of the day we use our art to connect to the world and other people.
Sometimes it can feel like an impossible feat, finding those people you want to reach, making the connections. I’m here to be the cliché voice of reason, to give you a metaphorical kick in the ass to go do whatever it is that’s scaring you, as long as it isn’t illegal.
The Rummy Writer 