You Don’t Need to Have Your Shit Together

It was minutes before my first performance of a one-woman play I’d written about my life.

Fuck. Who writes a play about their own life? This is going to be terrible. All my friends and family and these optimistic strangers are all going to know what a terrible actress I am, not to mention the fact that I don’t have my shit together at all. Who do I think I am?!

I stepped onto a makeshift stage, the two spotlights I’d borrowed morphing my audience into a shadowy blob. I asked everyone to take a deep breath with me (because why not?) and, still shaking, I started.

Forty-five minutes later, I found myself sitting in a circle with my audience. The lights were up, a tissue box was circulating, and everyone talked about how this live performance about loss and suicide affected them. I sat in my chair, eating a slice of humble pie, no longer self-conscious about the putrid sweat stains seeping under my armpits. The earnest faces thanking me for what I’d done, telling me how much it had meant to them, consumed my attention. I drank them in, letting their sentiments pierce even the most guarded area of my heart. This is important, a voice whispered. Remember this.

If anyone is familiar with the crippling inertia brought on by fear, it’s me. Over the last three years, I’ve masterfully tricked myself into every large endeavor I decided to take on. Kickstarter campaign, keynotes, performances, writing books, writing a screenplay. If I’d sat too long and thought about any of these things, they never would have happened, because I have a very clever moderator in my head.

Why in the world would you subject yourself to that? my seductive friend would say. I can think of all the ways in which you’ll fail from here till Tuesday. Might as well sit this one out, mate. Better play it safe and leave it to the people who know what they’re doing.

Super helpful, Australian-inner-voice.

Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t completely abandoned this voice. Because of her I’m prepared weeks in advance for a workshop, fearful I’ll accidentally sleep an entire week and wake up the day of. She also makes sure I remember to put on my essentials before leaving the house. We’re good. But when it comes to matters of taking new strides, she makes me think I need to have my shit together before I do anything big. That’s simply not true.

Imagine your doctor was getting ready for your surgery, and she was like, “So, um, this is what’s going to happen; that is, if everything goes right. I really shouldn’t be doing this, because I don’t think I’m good enough, and no one’s given me permission… Sorry, you know what? Never mind. We have to cancel the surgery. I just… I don’t feel ready.”

No way! That doctor is going to tell you she’s a fucking badass and she’s got your back/organs. That’s the voice we need to cultivate when doing something big. She needs to speak louder than our risk-averse moderators.

Everyone has to start somewhere. I know, that phrase is cheesier than fondue at New Years, but you know what? It’s spot on.

Everyone has to start somewhere.

If we all waited till we felt like we had our shit together before doing something big, we’d be waiting indefinitely. Then we’d all be lying in our graves next to each other, lamenting the fact that we’d been afraid of… what was it, exactly? We can’t remember. It was vague to begin with, and the worms wiggling in our brains are making it even harder to remember.

What’s your real reason for not playing big? Fear gets smaller when we define it. What truly is the worst-case scenario? Will you die? Loose a limb? Will your ego be wounded? Are you afraid to reveal a vulnerable part of yourself, certain you’ll be ridiculed and rejected? By whom? Will it last forever?

Here’s the equation: (My Dreams) — (Worst-Case Scenario) = Outcome. If that number comes out positive, you’re good. Leave your shit distinctly not-together and dive off the deep end. When we’re chilling in our graves, I want to celebrate with you all the ridiculous stuff we did, all the meaningful stuff we did, all the times we said, “What the hell… let’s do it!” I need you to live fully, because you inspire me, and I’ll try and do the same in return. Does it really matter if we’re successful in the end? I think not. We’ll still be able to say we were fucking badasses.