Sure Hope There's A Pool

Can you tell by looking whether or not this high-diver is worried about his luggage being lost?  Wondering what happened to his book-signing pen?  Missing his children, who begged him to bring them along?  Second-guessing how much he should have tipped the restroom attendant?

Me either.  Of course, I'm not qualified to judge, but the fact that this guy is not actively throwing up is enough to impress me.  Dude obviously knows how to take a leap.

I like to think I'm like that:  Brave (enough), Self-Reliant (ish), and Composed (sorta) to the degree called for.  And mostly I am.  I only start to wonder about myself when I have no idea what degree will be called for.

Thinking ahead about my book launch in Rhinebeck feels like standing on the dive platform.

Last week I was interviewed for my first podcast.  I wasn't really nervous, but it sure is surreal to talk about oneself.  True, I'm pretty knowledgeable on the subject of Me.  But I was brought up to avoid seeming conceited at any cost, which means self-deprecating in the face of accolade, aw-shucksing at the threat of compliment, and actually hiding behind a newspaper in case of flattery.  These behaviors, while now instinctual, are not especially conducive to publicizing ones work, and by association, oneself.  I was answering questions that I knew the answer to, but the whole time I was thinking "Oh my gosh, did I really just say that out loud?"

At least with a podcast, they can edit out anything truly heinously stupid; I just have to have faith that they will do so.  It's real-time transmissions, like talking to people, where you really have no control.  Funny how that doesn't scare me at, say, the deli counter or the gas station.  But put me in front of a real human who either has read, or is about to read the book that I made, and I have no idea what will happen.

My gift is the ideas that come outta my head, and my head is the thing I hang my face on, and my face is the thing people know me by.  It's also the location of my mouth, which has the documented ability to get me into trouble.  No different from anybody else.  But something happens when your thoughts get written down in the form of a book:  There's all this unexpected credence given.  And you can't go around apologizing for it, just in case it makes you sound like you have a big head "Oh - sorry - I didn't know you were actually going to read that!" 

So I'm spending some quiet time in contemplation (and prayer) this week, before I go out to meet the knitters.  I'm going to focus on smiling, nodding, and listening.  Nobody ever got too badly off track by paying attention to what others have to say, after all.  And of course, I'm reminding myself not to take anything too seriously.  I'm not at all afraid to dive in.  I just really hope there's a pool down there.