Punch It, Chewie!

When I was a kid, I loved being on stage or in front of people. I didn’t really get terribly nervous about dance recitals or school plays. I seemed to be able to just shut out most of the worry and fear of what may go wrong and just perform. Mom may remember that differently, but I don’t recall being particularly nervous.

I would usually be the one thrust in front in dance shows, partly because I did tend to remember the routines quite well, and also because I would smile and perform. I’m not saying I was a fantastic dancer or anything, but I would look as though I was enjoying myself on stage. I remember being told that I was like this from dance teachers and also from a school teacher of mine whose sister was in my dance school. He would make a point of telling me how much he enjoyed the dance I was in, and that I was smiling and having fun throughout. Once, he even did this while I was with a girl from my dance class, and he didn’t say anything at all to her. She was pissed.

I liked reading aloud in class, and I liked being asked to take on special tasks. I loved being the announcer at church, I loved being on the radio in university. While my stomach would be doing flip-flops, I still did enjoy playing in a big hockey or soccer game, or being asked to referee a playoff or a final. I knew that I could handle it.

Now, though, I seem to have forgotten all of that. I forgot the confidence I had when it came to being in front of a crowd or performing something. I have an almost crippling fear that I’d mess up, look like a moron, or just plain fail. I don’t want to be in situations where I have to talk or present in front of people. I feel almost like I’m going to throw up when I’m forced to do anything about it.

I don’t know when that switch was flicked, so to speak. I can’t put my finger on when all of this mattered to me so much. I worry that if I write something and put it out there for people to read that they’ll laugh, or think I’m stupid, or not read it. I can’t even be silly in front of my friends, for God’s sake! Whenever I’m in a position to be silly, like on my podcast, I can’t do it. My mind is working overtime and I stress over whether or not I’m funny or interesting or smart. I can’t tell myself that sometimes, people just won’t like you, or that not everything out of my mouth has to be comedy gold. That doesn’t seem to be good enough for me.

I have some friends that don’t mind sacrificing a little dignity to get a laugh or a reaction. I am so envious of them and their carefree attitude. I’ll never be the “look at me, look at me!” type, but I would love to be able to make a pratfall, growl like Chewbacca or sing out loud in public and not care about what other people are thinking.

This may be something that happens to everyone as they get older; who knows. You would think it would be the opposite, that when you start to get older, you give less and less of a crap about how others looked at you. Old people don’t seem to give a rat’s ass what they say, how they say it, or if they fart in a crowded room. In the end, who cares? They aren’t hurting anyone, really.

So, I am saying it here, I am not going to care so much anymore about what I say, how I say it, and who hears it. Of course, I’m not going to start walking around hurling racial slurs or derogatory comments at people, but my fear of someone thinking I’m stupid should not be enough to curtail my creativity or sense of fun. There will always be detractors, in fact, I’m sure there are people out there who don’t like me already. Hell, the internet is nothing but message boards full of people who hate everyone and everything. I, myself, have posted comments about people or movies or tv shows that I don’t care for. But, people listened to comments like that, no one would make music, tv shows or movies!

This is years and many layers to get through, people, so don’t expect me to do a complete 180, but I will try. Silly Sandi has been unleashed. Ask me about my Chewie impression.