This afternoon we've got a phone call scheduled that could completely change the trajectory of FLOW. Or, absolutely nothing will come of it and we'll go limping along as we have been for the past few months (Canada Dan, I feel the eye roll). Ok, limping was a particularly pathetic word to use, but at the moment, right now, in my dark living room, afraid to look out side because I think it's raining and I can't handle another day of precipitation, wearing sunglasses because I'm too tired to look for my regular glasses, dreading that in 7 minutes I'll have to start waking people up and leave what I need to write for at least another couple of hours, I'm nervous. And that's not the right word either. I'm numb. Shut down. Frozen. Quiet. On the verge of catatonic. My stomach is churning, upset and unsettled. I've got a knot in my shoulder that's got half my back immobile. My head is stuffed and pounding. No, all these physical symptoms aren't wrapped up in this call, but I know, deep down, that many are.
The View is calling. Or, at least, a producer from The View. They're thinking about having us on the show next week. Or, at least, having one of us on the show. So not only is this phone call a screening for us, to make sure we're coherent, conversational, topical, can hold our own on a panel of women used to back and forth banter, they want to find the one they like best.
This is a total double whammy. It's not just about getting FLOW on the show. It's dealing with the reality that it could very well not be me that they want. And boy does that feed into my self-doubting, self-loathing, self-hating feelings that I'm not good enough. That I don't deserve this. That no one wants me.
Now is the more appropriate time to use the word pathetic.
Yesterday I met an old friend (not old age wise, but someone I've know since life before children), for coffee. Actually for french onion soup as it turned out. When we first met she intimidated me to no end. She had years of design experience on me, and could talk the professional talk like no one I'd met yet. Client relations. Business plans. Contract negotiations. I was a design neophyte, just out of school, and she was on another level entirely. Made me cry more than once. Made me doubt whether I'd ever be successful. It was a relationship fraught with frustration and insecurity. Yesterday, she told me I was her inspiration. That this path I'm on, this personal branding, this stepping out of my comfort zone and putting myself out there, every day, in as many ways as I can, is something she doesn't know how to do and wishes she could.
It never ceases to amaze me how what other people see on the surface is so far removed from the inner turmoil that's roiling just below. I play this out there, successful, confident part in the real world and people believe it. Really truly believe. And I'm getting to believe it to. That I can do anything. That I'm on this path to bigger things. That what I'm saying is resonating with people. That I'll write more books, build an audience, start conversations, have a radio show. Be successful. That there's greatness in me.
And sometimes I'm waiting not for a spectacular crash, but for it all to slowly deflate until I'm a middle-aged mother in high-waisted jeans, living through someone else's experiences. Not moving forward but holding on to the past.
Oh god. I think I just figured out my biggest fear (besides cancer and dementia).
That I won't be relevant anymore.