This week I participated in a night of storytelling at The Ebell in Los Angeles. Six other writers and I got together to weave tales in The Ebell’s historic Fine Arts Theater. Friends, family and complete strangers gathered for the sole purpose of listening. I think Mister put it best when he said, “This is throwback entertainment.”
When I was initially asked to participate in this event, I immediately wanted to say no. The mere thought of getting up in front of people to read one of my stories paralyzed me with fear. What would I share? Why would anyone be interested in something I wrote? I’ve never done that! These thoughts of self-doubt (and about a jillion others) raced through my mind and very nearly kept me from saying yes.
But then I realized my fear was only fear. And that the worst case scenario was I would keep my head down and read my story during my time on stage, never looking up. I mean, it was a reading after all, right?
So before I could second-guess myself… Before I could shun the people who believed in me enough to invite me in the first place… Before I could sabotage what might be a new and positive experience, I said Yes. I committed to participating in the event and that was that.
I worked on my story. I did. I practiced reading and I even consulted a fabulous actor friend, taking her advice and trying my best to incorporate her excellent suggestions. She told me that the more I could memorize, the better my eye-contact with the audience. I knew what she meant. I’m often “the audience” at such events and it definitely makes a difference if one feels a connection with the performer. I love that feeling. Of course I wanted to foster that from my side of the podium. So I practiced some more. On one particular day, I went over my 10-minute story so many times I was left hoarse. But it was the right thing to do.
I wanted to give my best. Now, I felt this way simply because, but I had also invited several folks to the reading. And – lo and behold – they were actually planning to attend. If I told you how uncomfortable I was in simply inviting people to this event, you wouldn’t believe me. I go see friends as they pursue various performing endeavors all the time. And I love it! Concert? Sure! Stand-up? You bet! Theater? Dance? Recital? Gallery Show? Yes, yes, yes and yes! But to ask people to show up for me is beyond painful. Let me just say there was a lot of deep breathing involved and a lot of denying my dark side. But I did take the breaths and I did quiet the critic and I did ask my friends to attend.
Here’s what happened: people showed up. They braved traffic. They bought their tickets. They gave me more love and support than I ever expected. And though I’m not very good at receiving, I tried. And I said Thank You. And I hugged each of them, and even slow-danced with the gal with the second greatest dimples on earth (Mister’s receive top billing, don’t you know). I marveled at the love I was given. I felt my heart stretch at its crooked seams. And I realized I actually have friends. As much as I go through life thinking my love for these wonderful souls is one-sided, it absolutely isn’t. Whether or not I’ve admitted it, I am loved in return. I can’t tell you how it makes me feel to own that. To accept it. To allow it into my walled existence.
Anyhoo, the other night I got up and read my story, and I was fine. I was off-the-page enough to feel good about looking at the audience, and when I did look down I somehow managed to know just where I was in the telling. I got to hear the other stories and I got to meet the other writers and I got to check off my First Reading. All in all, it went pretty well.
For what it’s worth, I can tell you my goal was to warrant being included with that group of storytellers. I simply wanted to hold my own, to be my finest version of me. Nothing more, but certainly nothing less. I think that goal was accomplished.
But if there were doubts, they were certainly quelled when I received a beautiful note from a friend the morning after. She shared a personal experience, then tied it to my self-doubts about the previous evening’s Reading. Her note ended, “Just let go. You’re a lot better than you think you are.”
To her, and to all the Friends who showed up, laughed and applauded – Thank You. You will never know what your support means. And if your affection for me is a mere smidgen of mine for you, well, I am blessed beyond all measure.