Bravo You Brave Motherfuckers!
Have you ever told a lie so often you started to believe it yourself?
Of course, I never have, I was just wondering about you, you lying scoundrels.
Sometimes it is necessary to lie. It can be the kindest thing to do, and often, is the lesser of two evils.
“Yes, it WAS good for me too.”
“Stop crying, that haircut DOES make you look like Charlize Theron.”
“You’re right, it is SO their loss. Your voice is…beautiful.”
I lie to myself ALL the time. It’s a habit. Like brushing my teeth and going to the gym (lie).
I started doing it in acting class.
Just so you know, acting is the gateway to a life of lying. I’m looking at YOU Meryl Streep.
It would happen just before a big audition, or sitting in front of a casting director. Then, if I’d actually bullshitted my way into the job, there’d be that moment backstage, in the dark, behind the curtain, when my head knew it had to go out and stand in the spotlight but my legs wanted to run, my stomach wanted to vomit, and my butt wanted to poop the entire contents of my large intestine—all over the stage.
There have been times I thought my blood would boil in my veins, my nose would fall off of my face or my vagina would start to recite Shakespeare, all due to nerves.
Oh, don’t look at me that way! You know what I’m talking about.
Instead, somehow, we all find it in ourselves to walk out on stage, hit the mark, and deliver the lines. Or we walk to the front of the room of VIP’S and deliver our presentation. Or we sit our asses in the chair and take the test. Or we unclench our fists—and hit send.
You fake it. You lie. You pretend. I know you do. Just for a moment. That you aren’t scared shitless. That you are a pro and not only THAT! That you’re the best at what you do!
Bravo, you brave motherfuckers!
In Jenny Lawson’s (The Bloggess), hilarious new book, Furiously Happy, there’s a chapter where she’s supposed to go and read for the audio version of her own book and instead ends up on the bathroom floor in a full anxiety attack, frantically texting her friend, the author Neil Gaiman for help.
He sends her back a single line.
“Pretend you’re good at it.”
Okaaaaayyy…She writes it in big block letters on her arm, gets up off of the floor, and keeps on going. She continues to this day to write it every time she has to get on stage for a talk or a book reading.
Pretend you’re good at it.
I do it every time I write. I do it when I sing karaoke, and I do it every time we have sex.
I know you can relate. What have you pretended to do to get you through? I’d love to know!
Carry on,
xox
Me pretending to be Velma Kelly in Chicago (This was my own personal Pretending Olympics).
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