The Catch

“So, what’s the catch.” I asked without the usual inflection at the end which would have given the impression I was asking the question when, frankly, I already knew the answer and didn’t have the energy to fake the uptick in tone in my voice. Full disclaimer: I was also asking myself this question as a means to ponder my current situation and not a real person. If it had, indeed, been a real person on the other end of the said pondering, I may have feigned ignorance of the situation with a touch of innocent to give the other person the sense that I really didn’t know the answer if they could just please, oh please, give me their honest opinion, that would be great.

When you sell your soul to the devil, there’s definitely a catch. It would be insanely naïve to think otherwise. And, also naïve if you think it’s the straight to video idea of you descending rapidly and dramatically down a freshly opened firey hole to H-E-double hockey sticks and being surprised to see people you know and have admired already there before you. I don’t want to get super existential here, but, there are plenty of places right here on Earth and specifically between my ears that are probably pretty close to whatever Satan can dream up down there. So, the idea of warm summer evenings every day for the rest of eternity doesn’t scare me too much.

Okay, so I lied a little. I am gonna get a little existential, maybe even a lot existential here. You know how things feel like they’re going really good and there’s this underlying feeling of impending doom but you’re just so high right now from all the likes and “You go girl!” comments and new invites to collab on exciting new projects that you push aside that one thing that keeps it all in check? Maybe you mention it to one of your many acquaintances, because you know, who has time for real friends, and they say, “What?! Are you kidding? That’s just self-doubt baby, don’t listen to that garbage.” And you’re like, okay cool. Get thee behind me Satan with your self-doubt. I am woman, hear me roar!

Then you start hearing people talking about imposter syndrome, like, what the fuck is that and do I have it? If there was a commercial for it, I can hear it in my head right now. Are you a good person with a trauma filled past and worried if people found out they would drop you faster than a hot potato? Are you talented in any way but underplay this talent so people don’t find out you might be a one hit wonder or not a genius and spit you out like the hot cheese sticking to the roof of their mouth after not waiting for the pizza to cool? Do you have anxiety every time you present your talent or gift or project hoping people don’t see it for the crap it really is and drop you like the last bite of pasta they couldn’t finish because of all the bread they ate waiting for it? Of course, I fucking have it. Who doesn’t? (If you’re reading this and say not you, you’re lying to yourself and if that’s what you gotta do to get through the day, then you do you baby.)

Oh yeah, remember that part about self-doubt I mentioned earlier? Imposter syndrome! Fucking hell! Now what am I supposed to do? Never mind all the real evidence I have as a talented person. You probably have a lot of evidence, too! And yet, the nagging persists. I think to myself, what I wouldn’t do for a little more confidence. Or, if only I could catch a break. Or, what if I am an imposter and think I’m not an imposter but I totally am and no one is telling me my work is crap because I’m a nice person?!

And why is it so hard to take criticism? I want to learn and get better at my craft, for sure, and I know I’m not, like, 100 percent awesome right out of the gate. Who is? But, what if… what if… I’m that person on American Idol who’s family and church friends have been telling is so talented only to go on there, sing in front of famous people to hear Randy Jackson say, “Naw dawg… that was a little pitchy.” Or Simon Cowell saying, “It was like listening to two cats mating in an echo chamber.” And dear sweet Paula Abdul with, “Aw sweetie, you look fabulous but I’m sorry it just wasn’t the right song choice this time.” But like for writing. What would that reality show look like? Who would be the judges for that? Every week they give you a theme and it gets read aloud, judged, and the people watching call in and vote for the writer they like the best. Sorry, your story was the least liked, so you’re going home. America voted!

What a fucking nightmare. But isn’t that what it is right now on a more intimate yet global scale? You put yourself out there and either people “like” it, share it, buy it, or tweet it, or something it and you sit quietly behind your computer screen reading the comments about your content. Good comments, harsh comments, constructive comments, suggestions on correct use of grammar or punctuation, and the worst, of course, no comment.

You might be asking yourself at this time, “So, what’s the deal about the opening phrase about there being a catch?” I will tell you. Patience, grasshopper. It’s a deal I’m thinking of agreeing to. It’s just that the catch is so major, I don’t know if the deal is worth it. Up to this point, I’ve been making smaller deals with myself, God, and sometimes Satan; although, he’ll say it wasn’t him but rather my subconscious, which is funny because his ego is so big he likes to take credit for things he didn’t even do and yet for my stuff, he’s like, nope I wasn’t even in aisle seven! Whatever dude. He and I both know the truth.

Do you ever find yourself in a situation and think, “God, if you help me out of this, I promise blah, blah, blah?” And then, something happens to get you out of the deal, like it turns in your favor or interrupts the bad thing and in the moment, you’re like, “Yay! Thanks God!” and then you don’t do the blah, blah, blah you promised? Or maybe, you’re faced with a choice. The right choice is hard and it’s going to be shitty for awhile but then you’re gonna come out of it way better. The wrong choice feels warmer and sticky and electric and it’s going to be good, so good, for a while but then the bottom is going to fall out and you’re gonna have a bankruptcy on your record for seven years because of it. Which do you choose? Don’t lie.

Honestly, I have chosen both paths at different times. Each choice has a catch. It’s gonna be good then bad or bad then good. Every time I make one of those choices, a little bit more of my resilience gets eaten away. I’m not even talking about life changing decisions either. Do I want this extra piece of gluten free cake? These gummy bears are sugar-free! I can eat a whole bag before bed. (This last one is sort of life changing. I haven’t experienced this one myself; but I have heard of others doing it and the results are not pretty.) Do I stay in this weekend or meet up with that guy from Craiglist? Obviously, staying in is the safest choice; but if we’re being totally honest right now, I’ve done some sketchy things and thought later how lucky I was the guy didn’t turn out to be a serial killer.

Back to the catch. Here’s the deal: I have the choice to feel or not feel.

To feel means feeling all the panic of putting myself out there. My ideas, my writing, my creations, my various theatrical talents, and just me. The feeling of reality when some of it hits and some of it bombs or doesn’t even make a sound. The desperate feeling to do something, to be something, to make something worthwhile or change the world even if only a tiny bit in a positive direction.

Not to feel means I can put all of these things out there and not be affected by praise or criticism. Tra la la, I’ll sing to myself while people care or not care about me or what I do or what I write or what I sing or what I direct. Because I will not care. I’ll just be and do and not feel the reality of whether people like it or not.

To feel means all the good things of reading comments or critiques of my work because someone took the time to experience whatever it was I put out there into the nothingness and actually say or write how it made them feel. Positive or negative. To feel like I made enough of an impact to garner a response. To feel also means feeling super shitty when things don’t go as planned or the work isn’t working or the words aren’t coming out right or it just sucks and I have writer’s block or performance anxiety or am just stuck which makes me not want to write or do anything but watch trash reality tv so I can watch people act crazy and think to myself, “Well, at least I’m not them making a fool out of myself in front of millions of people.”

The catch is to feel or not to feel. The deal is whether to do the things that scare me or just live day to day avoiding the very thing which ultimately gives me the greatest joy. The catch is the biproduct of living and being and doing, really. Feeling is freaking scary even when it feels good because there’s always a chance of that impending doom right around the corner or years down the road because things were too good and now the universe needs to balance your life out by throwing some bad shit your way.

I could be totally overthinking this. It wouldn’t be the first time.

I’m leaning towards feeling. Putting myself out there and feeling whatever response comes my way. Honestly, feelings are overrated, if you ask me, which you didn’t, but that hasn’t stopped me from telling you. But if I don’t feel, then what’s the point of trying to put anything of value out there? Sure, I can avoid disappointment or whatever by becoming an emotional hermit but then I’m also avoiding love, acceptance, and comradery, right? Such a quandary this is. A pickle for sure.

Well, heck. I guess that’s it. I’m going with to feel. I’m going to live and do and be and the catch is that I’m going to feel things about it and I’ll just have to deal with those feelings as they happen.

Which choice would you make?