You guys. I turn my back for a SECOND and suddenly most of my friend feed is just RSS from Merlin at Kung Fu Grippe? What happened around here?

Anyways, I've been thinking. There were two things I was always good at, two things that would consistently earn me praise from peers and teachers from middle school right through college. They were singing and writing. I didn't have to work too hard to be pretty good at either of those things.

I loved the singing. I was born with a decent ear and the ability to carry a tune. I didn't sing around the house, growing up; my parents didn't know I could sing until they saw me belting out "As Long As He Needs Me" when I was cast as Nancy in the middle school production of "Oliver!" I never took voice lessons, yet managed to make District and then All-State Chorus in high school. Did more school theatre, then community theatre. "See you on Broadway!" they wrote, in my senior yearbook. In college I took opera lessons, but that was mostly for the credit. I got an A. It was pretty effortless.

And then: stage fright. It came on kind of gradually, episodically. Sometimes I was okay, then sometimes I wasn't. The last time I sang in public I shook so badly that I couldn't control my voice, and I probably looked like I had a devastating medical condition. That was the end of singing in public, for me. Now I sing in the car.

The writing, though. I was a precocious kid and started reading very early. In elementary school they let me skip 2 grades in English class. I was on the staff of the high school school literary magazine, wrote for the newspaper, all that stuff. I went off to college and majored in creative writing, where I got consistently high marks and positive feedback from published authors whose work I respected. I got my degree, and I got an editorial job right out of school. After that, I got a job as a copywriter. Again, pretty effortless.

So what happened?

At some point I think I just decided I didn't have anything to say. I can sing, but I can't write songs. I can write words, but to what end? There are people who are better than me at both of those things. There are people who have something to say, people you want to listen to. Why would anyone want to listen to me? What do I have to contribute? I started to worry about what people thought. I worried about being judged. I'm sure that's also what was behind the stage fright.

The thing I lost along the way was the pleasure I took in the simple act of using my talents. That's the thing. That's what I miss. The singing and the writing were just part of who I was, who I am. Singing in the car is still fun, and it reminds me that I have a talent that's fun to use once in a while. It brings me back to that simple state when everything was effortless because I was just doing what I knew how to do. Not thinking too much about it.

I think livejournal was my writing version of "singing in the car." So maybe I should write here some more.

A good friend said this to me recently.

Might I hazard a suggestion? It might be something as simple as shedding.  When the caterpillar builds its cocoon and begins its metamorphosis it is in a state where it's no longer a caterpillar and not yet a butterfly. It takes time for things to change and to learn to be your really true self. And when you're letting go of some of the protective "thick skin" you've used to keep others from hurting you over the years it can take a toll on your emotions. You can feel vulnerable and be much more apt to cry. It will all settle out eventually as you get used to yourself being different.

So, maybe I'm shedding.

That's What Your Mother Said

Context: IM with superactiongo regarding "the Scut Farkus affair" referencing A Christmas Story, which I, a dirty heathen, have never seen:

Paul: it's 2am, repost it tomorrow and then we'll see abt cultural touchstone
me: UH HUH
Paul: there's a band called the scut farkus affair!
me: that means nothing!
Paul: like 'save ferris'
me: there's a band called death cab for cutie!
Paul: which is from magical mystery tour.
me: there's a band called say hi to your mom!
Paul: there's a band called that's what your mother said
me: that's fucking awesome
me: why isn't that your band?
Paul: oh, i dont know if there actually is
Paul: i was just saying it