unfortunately, that's not possible, since i have so much to do. can we say blah? blah!
i'm all wound up because i'm going to michigan this weekend for fray day, which i am starting to tell people is, and i quote, "an artsy fartsy event where people tell stories and show art and share their work." i am just making it up, of course. i have no idea what it's going to be like. i don't even know where grand rapids is on the map; all i know is i have a roundtrip ticket that leaves at 8am tomorrow morning and returns at 3pm sunday and i am going because i was asked to read some stuff i've written (which when you think about it is a really cool thing and kind of a big deal and la di da for me.)
when i was a young girl, my mom made me sing karaoke at family parties. when i saw that they were plugging in the machine and opening the cabinets of casettes i'd run to my bedroom and try to hide, because i did not want to sing in front of those people. nevermind the fact that i'd been practicing my songs all week and was rather pleased with the way i was sounding. when the moment was actually there, i was terrified.
"it's not good to be shy," she would tell me.
"but i don't want to!" i'd cry.
as i got older, though, i realized that i didn't want to be afraid of things, of taking risks, of trying something new, of living life. so i made a concerted effort not just to live life fully but to do things that specifically frightened me. i approached the boy i'd been eyeing at the party all night. i signed myself up to perform in front of an audience. i published a story that was really difficult for me to write. there's that moment of panic right after i do it--right after i make eye contact, right after i say yes sure i'll read, right after i submit the piece that will be seen by hundreds of people--and i think, oh my god, what have i done? who do i think i am? why do i have such a big mouth? but then something happens. it happens--i ask the boy out, i read my work, i share my story--and it's fine. no, it's great. ok, sometimes it's not so great. sometimes it sucks, and i get hurt, and i am humiliated, and i think, see? i knew i shouldn't have done it. oh, tragedy that has befallen me. oh, woe is me and my pathetic life. but even then, even when that happens, it's okay. i get over it. i wipe my tears. i move on.
it's better than crying on your pillow wanting desperately for something to happen to you but never even leaving your bed.
this weekend will be many firsts for me. i will be reading a piece or two i've only shared with a few people. i will be meeting more friends i've made through wires and words. i will step into a new city, a place i never would have really dreamed of going. but that's when life gets exciting, right? when things start happening that you didn't even know could.