Ugh.
But then I think about how when I have been bold enough to tell some of my stories from my life, and they meet up with another’s story in such a way that they get a fresh perspective or permission to be human, I know it’s worth it. It makes it okay. It’s why I wrote my book – to invite others to not feel so alone.
But also, I have discovered, I wrote it so that I no longer feel so alone. I see that most of my life – let’s say the first 30 years – was spent feeling very alone in my confusion and anxiety.
Sharing my life now, I am inviting people into my private space.
As I was laying in bed waking up this morning, I was fantasizing about being at the Village Studios. We are taking a break, and I go into the kitchen to grab some hot water for my tea. I walk in, and there is David Bowie. One of my life’s heroes. He says hi. I say hi. He grabs a juice from the fridge, I some non-fat milk for my tea. My heart is exploding with love, my head is swirling with words, but I stay quiet. I act like I belong there, and that I’m not a fangirl from 1978; that he didn’t change my life with Young American; that he kept my head above water with his acute take on teenage angst and modern life.
He smiles at me with his piercing eyes, nods and turns to get back to his work. I take a deep breath, feel my eyes fill with tears, and know that I’m once again in the right place because I am here living it.
I know that because I chose to write, something I have longed to do my whole life, I am not alone. I know that by stepping out of the shadows, I have chosen to be a part of the whole.