I stepped down off the panel, my legs shaking so much I had a touch of paulsy. I’m pretty sure the sweat on my face could be seen from the back row. I stayed to answer a few questions and meet a new client so the room was nearly empty. I was actually a little relieved that nobody was left to see me taking deep breaths and stepping carefully. One. Two. Three. Breath.
I push thoughts of over-analyzing the panel out of my head and focused on food. I need it. Bad.
The feedback is great. People respond well to watching a complete and utter spaz on stage. I think it’s like a train-wreck. So cliche and so true. Or reading the fail blog. I? Am one Giant Fail Blog.
I start to think back to those times in my life I’ve lived up to my reputation. The sidewalk I tripped on with my arms full of books in college. Twice. The time I broke my friend’s wedding decor the night before the event. The day I spilled red wine on another friend’s white carpet. The wine I spilled at BlogHer (Sorry Guy) and the glass I broke at the SMB Method Party.
I’m the one you can count on to trip. I’m the girl that looks at faces turned expectantly at her waiting for a professional speech and farts. I’m the girl who leans over while teaching a room full of college Sophomores and gives the room a show of her boobs without realizing it.
I’m the girl that pees on a used test and calls her doctor to say she’s pregnant AND her husband while toting her six month old to his work to bawl. And realizes the mistake four hours later.
Yea, I’m that girl.
Not quite as funny as Liz Lemon.
Not as classy as Lucile Ball.
Not as pretty as Bella from Twighlight.
I’m .... just me.
I’m contemplating each of these small moments when I make the connection. I realize and nearly lose my breath: My daughter. My silly, crazy, spaz of a child comes directly from me. How on earth I failed to really connect this is unbelievable to me. How it’s possible I’ve spent the last four years wondering why she is so busy, what I’m going to do with her. DOES SHE NOT SIT STILL. Why she is loud. Why she is active. Why. WHY. WHY me?
Because she is so very me.
There is much I can say about my time at Blissdom, and I will. I will record the events and memories as I am recording 33 years of the most prominent events in my life. This most absolutely is a notable experience for a host of reasons. But tonight, I just want to remind myself one day my daughter is going to step off a podium and wonder what-the-fuck happens to her when she gets in a roomful of people. What. Is. The. Gigantic. Handwaving. All. About? Why oh why do these things always happen to me?
And it will hit her like a two ton brick: It’s in her blood as thick as Elmers. Spazy, freaky, energetic goo.
I hope she accepts herself for it as I’m starting to realizing I’m not as full of grace as my Grandma or born with the gift of holding my tonuge. I’m still realizing I can be loved as the person I am today.