Step #14: Cancel the Three Ring Circus.

Since I've started writing it's been mostly about my journey from self-deprecation to self-exploration. The end goal: Getting up, looking in the mirror and saying, "Yep, we're doing pretty damn fine."--rather than saying, "Well, this is the best its going to get." I kept myself in a bit of a vacuum regarding commentary and those nasty muppets in the balcony. I am not always successful.

I've never been rubber chicken and bicycle horn funny. My experiences don't come complete with squirting flowers and hand buzzers. I don't approach every day with Ethel Merman-esque gusto. And somehow, I've duped myself into being apologetic about it.

It's difficult to really believe your words have any value without a rim shot and a spotlight. People like to laugh, people like wacky encounters and stories that begin with, "You'll never believe what happened...". People like to be entertained. Sometimes, when honesty is woven in a little too deep; when it strikes a bit too close to home; it can make people uneasy.

Hell, it makes me uneasy. I am people-- so I know.

I recently saw John Leguizamo's one-man show on Broadway. The comedy of it was incidental. There he was, exposing himself (figuratively--- not that kind of show), telling a genuine story of his mistakes and how he surged through them so he could look in the mirror and say, "Yep, we're doing pretty damn fine." It was inspiring to me to say the least. I walked out floored--shocked really that someone was able to so eloquently put their vulnerabilities, mistakes, insecurities and self-doubt out into the universe in a way that was not a pity party. Still, there were rumblings of "He wasn't as funny as I thought he'd be" "Why'd he get so serious?" "Hm. That's not what I expected...". Those muppets have some fucking nerve.

There is a ton in our day to day lives that is designed to make us feel like we are not cutting the mustard. It's a daily battle against the skinnier, richer, wittier, smarter, taller, more driven, more hip, funnier (rarely), more genuine masses. I can't discredit my own thoughts and feelings because logically, I know it takes a village. There's an audience for all of it. You don't have to cover the front row of your audience in ponchos to make an impact.

Still, there's something about this format that has a "dancing bear" type quality to it. I guess what I'm learning is that this type of talk doesn't have to inspire gut-wrenching, rolling in the aisles laughter. It doesn't have to be an account of how funny and awesome my life is. I don't have to zip myself into a white "onesie" with lightning bolts while I crawl into the business end of a cannon all for the sake of the proverbial "oohs and aahs."

Performance anxiety be damned. There will be a basket at the front to drop all ponchos, bicycle horns and rubber chickens. We won't be needing them here.