New fears to conquer

I'm feeling jazzed tonight about a new path that seems to be opening up in front of me. A new path that's both exciting and scary and a challenge to be kicked down and stomped like many others. This afternoon one of the other storytellers from the story slam a couple of weeks ago -- an extremely talented standup comedian -- asked me if I would record one of my stories for a project he's producing for our local public radio station. I don't really know much more than that, but I said yes.

And tonight at the quarterly pecha kucha, I asked my friend D, after his hilarious presentation on how to be friends with a black man, to introduce me to the woman who produces them. We're Facebook friends but I'd never met her face to face so I wanted to at least shake her hand.

She asked me if I'd present next summer. Just like that. And because she said I could talk about vaginas, I said yes. When I told D I was on the list, he said, "I knew you would be when I introduced you."

As much time as I spend in front of groups and on stage, it would be logical to think he knew I'd say yes because I'm a big old diva. Which I certainly appear to be -- to the uninformed. What D knows is that the reason I said yes is because I'm terrified to do it. That's why I have to do it. That's why I have to kick it down and stomp on it before it  gets a chance to swallow me.

Gulp.

I've been told it's not obvious that I've been working through a performance phobia most of my adult life. I know how it started, but that's another story. The words "stage fright" don't seem strong enough to describe the terror I've felt at just the suggestion of doing certain things -- mostly musical -- in front of people. I can have a mind-numbing, stomach-churning, heart-thumping panic attack just thinking about performing. Just thinking about it. Or I used to. It doesn't happen so often now because I've kicked the shit out of it so many times. But it has been a journey. Here are a couple of my high points.

• When Elvira was a baby, I decided to join our small church choir. The alto section welcomed me as the only alto who could read music. I loved the rehearsals. But then the time came when we would have to stand up on the risers and sing in front of the congregation. I was terrified. I fully expected to give up choir so I wouldn't have to stand in the second row and sing a song in the alto section ..... but I couldn't give in. So I asked LtColEx, who never mocked my phobia once, to stand up on the empty riser with me in the empty sanctuary so I could practice just standing there with nobody looking at me. I had Elvira in the sling and I just stood there until I could breath ... until I could look at the empty chairs. The next Sunday after .... well, the symptoms aren't pleasant so who needs to share? TMI .... I got up with the choir and sang. I wanted to run off the riser and out the door the entire time. But I didn't. And the next time was easier. And the time after that. Eventually I didn't think about it so much. But I've never sung a solo in the choir. Some things are phobia and some are good sense.
• Several years later I was in a production of The Vagina Monologues. VM is the least scary kind of theatre because the performers almost always use a script and go barefoot, and so did we. But for some reason, the director asked me to introduce the play and perform my monologue first. I had to write my introduction and then talk about shaving my pussy in front of 200 people. Later, I had to perform the "right there" orgasm. I was terrified I would do something embarrassing, like throw up, on stage. So I tucked a plastic baggie in the waistband of my vagina-red pants. And then the entire time I was introducing the play and talking about my poor shaved pussy, I worried that the plastic bag had dropped through my pant leg and fallen to the floor where everybody could see. It didn't. I got through it. And later that night I licked the giant vagina ice sculpture that melted and flooded the church basement in the night. But that's another story.

I have dozens of stories about getting up and performing just so I can kick my phobia in the ass. Every time I'm asked, I do it. I'll bring my guitar and play and sing with anybody, anywhere. I play the piano and recorders and even instruments I don't play, like the mandolin and the ukulele. I get up and lead services, read my own poetry, give sermons, lead drum circles, dance ecstatically, perform in community theater ..... Hell, I get up in front of 18-year-old college students several times a week and act like a teacher. I rarely get phobic about performing any more, I've curb-stomped it so many times. Rarely, but it's there, waiting for me to let down my guard. A dark, draining shadow that can turn something fun into an ordeal to just get through.

One thing I still hate to do is sing by myself though. Even in my own living room swapping songs with a friend, I don't like it. So my big challenge recently has been singing karaoke. This is a tough one because I'm so uncomfortable singing alone --let me sing the harmony and I'm happiest -- and I don't have a guitar or piano between me and my voice. It's naked up there and loud -- even when nobody is listening. Even when I know some people are .... a little more challenged than I am. It's fertile ground for my worst fears: that I'll sound like a tone-deaf Japanese tourist and my friends won't tell me. But I do it week after week after week just because I can't let my phobia win.

And now the storytelling. I'll admit, it scares me a little. So far, not into phobia range, but I feel it lurking. I got up and did the story slam mostly because I didn't want to. I wasn't prepared. And then I had to do it because it might have been fear that held me back. Sometimes it's hard to tell. So I took the mic at the very last minute and it wasn't too bad. Hell, I won. But I'm a writer, not a stand-up storyteller. So this is new for me.

And I will do it, because it terrifies me, makes me want to run, makes me want to crawl into my bed and hide. And also because the desire to drop-kick that phobia has in large part made me into the person I am today -- at least the person people see on the outside. It took writing about it tonight to make me realize that awful fucking phobia might have been one of the best things that could have happened to me.

Hmmmmm. I'm going to have to think about that some more. I've hated my phobia for so long I've never considered how it's molded me in positive ways. What the fuck, phobia? I still think you're my enemy.

What about you? What terrifies you? How has your fear molded your life?

Thanks, Amy.