Yessiree, today is the day we get to talk only about ourselves!
Wait. Most days we talk only about ourselves.
Well, there's no help for it. I want to post a video of me singing in order to illustrate a point, and it runs the risk of appearing self-promoting. Of course, given the video's content, it will mostly be self-promoting my dorkiness . . . . So maybe it's okay.
All right. I'm doing it. Narcissism Day has officially begun! Woot! And that day begins with a question: How do you recover from a catastrophic, publicly humiliating mistake? The kind of mistake that makes you want to move to Loogootee, Indiana and spend the rest of your life quietly studying tse tse fly biorhythms?
I mean, some mistakes are so oppressively humiliating--even if there is only a single witness--that you kind of wonder how you'll get up the next morning, you know? I hate those. And they happen to me all the time. I should figure out why.
These mistakes used to absolutely flatten me. I mean I would ruminate over them for days, sometimes weeks, beating myself over the head with them. Replaying them over and over again so I could self-flagellate some more. And then celebrating their yearly anniversary by standing in the toilet and attempting to flush myself down.
Got tired of that after a while. I was getting a water ring about the ankles. Something had to be done.
And that's when I decided to be a David to my Goliaths. I decided that instead of running away from my mistakes I would embrace them. So I did
And then after doing that a few times, and learning a few things, and accepting that I regularly commit big über-dorkified gaffes, I decided to go one further. I would not only embrace the mistakes, I would run right over them and drag them down the field, while I was in the course of making them. Yep. If I was going to make a mistake, I was going to make it all. the. way. And take the sucker down with me while I was at it.
And you know what? Suddenly I owned my mistakes. Suddenly I was in control. I decided what my response was going to be, then carried it out with confidence. And dip me in banana peels if the people who saw me fall didn't just smile, ask if I was all right, pat me on the back, and move on. Without thinking one bit worse of me. In fact, I believe it made them my friends--because I, just like they, made mistakes. Was human. Was the Queen of the Dorks.
I am telling you people, this works. Fear not to fail. Fear not to flail. Love it. Embrace it. Run with it. And watch what happens. No really. Watch. The following clip is me singing at a Christmas concert a year or so back, and failing quite grandly. I was somewhat out of voice and was having severe memory problems. Look what these lovely people did in response to me putting my Goliath in a full-nelson (not that I'm all great and fabulous; it was a well-practiced desperation response if ever there was one) (And by the way, there were more people in attendance than this video makes it look. Most of them were behind the camera. Even in the balcony. Plenty of people to die in front of) (Try to ignore the cracked-out look on my face):
Yeah. We're all best friends now. I invite them to over for birthday parties, they have me for Thanksgiving. We braid each other's hair and sometimes sing together. Just not "Walking in a Winter Dorky-Land."
Hey. I can make mistakes. I just don't think I gotta move in with them.