The Courage to be Loved

It takes courage to be visible. [013]

I write mostly improv advice on my Medium. It’s more public-facing, and I feel like my thoughts might get more reads there. I want to compartmentalise it as my “Improv advice column”.

The gist of today’s post was: give the audience a chance to love you. Let yourself be seen, be known; let strangers have a chance to fall in love with you, just for a moment.

The truth is – well, look on the dark side – the chance might not come through; they might not love you, and probably what will happen is they will forget you quickly. Time is fleeting.

But to stand in front of people, to let yourself be seen, to give the audience a chance to recognise themselves in you and to connect, that is scary.

Letting people connect with you is scary.

And I don’t take my own damn advice.

How I hide

When I’m hosting a show, my outfit is camouflage.

Maybe I’m wearing a sharp navy suit that fits well. Maybe it’s the intricate trinity knot, or maybe it’s a broad smile and slicked-back hair. People get distracted by the shiny or the fancy, and they never see my face.

I hide in my suit; and when all else fails, I fade behind the persona of The Host. I smile, I compliment, I shmooze and network. It’s all true, there’s a part of me that really likes people; but I’m not really letting my true self out.

In day-to-day life, I am mysterious; I don’t talk often about myself; I write blog posts weekly and then disappear for 2 months. I am noncommittal to events and sometimes don’t reply texts for a long time.

I think of it as security through obscurity — if you can’t find me, you can’t hurt me — but really, it’s the magician’s trick of misdirection. All performers know how to direct the audience’s attention and focus; and really conniving performers know how to direct their attention elsewhere.

Look at the suit, look at the tie, look at the show…but not at me.

People Who Like Me Call Me The **** Out

One thing I am grateful for is knowing people who call me out. Affectionately, tenderly, who call me on my duplicity, on my not taking my own advice, on my own habits.

We all could do with a bit more self-love, and giving ourselves the chance to love ourselves sometimes.

You know who you are — so thank you for calling me out, and thank you for reminding me to give myself a chance to be loved.