Yes peeps, FLOW is going to be on THE VIEW (!!!) next Tuesday. Which means I will be too (along with Susan). Not only did we both get invited, everyone in the audience is getting a copy of the book. This is big. Huge. IT. The potential game-changing moment. Although the jew in me doesn't want to think any of that until after it's over, so not to jinx anything. I'm battling many things this morning, that being just one.
Backstory: 2 weeks ago our St. Martin's publicist casually asked if there was an TV footage of us talking about FLOW. The only stuff out there is the local NYC cable show I did (with a tremendous shout out to Miss Joanie and Paul), when the book came out. An hour of me talking in front of a screen that alternated between a giant cover of the book and a mac screensaver that seemed to shoot lighting bolts out of my head. Last week she wrote that The View was maybe interested in one of us, not to get our hopes up, and that a producer wanted to talk to us at the same time. Wednesday at 1:30.
I spun that vague info around, sure it wouldn't happen, and if in the slightest chance it did, they'd pick Susan and not me. I'd actually really truly honestly gotten to the point that I would've been ok—getting FLOW talked about was far more important that my ego. As the day wore on, and my anxiety settled into my stomach, the call was pushed to 4, which meant both Iz and Jack would be here. At pickup at 3, Jack was hit in the face, from close range and really hard, with an icy snowball—I found him out of the yard, being yelled at by this kid's mother. He was sobbing. The other boy was completely silent. Sure sign the guilt was in his court. After shouting at the mom to shut up and leave my kid alone, we sort of straightened things out and headed home. 3:25.
I needed coffee but my usual place was packed. Jack was so upset he only wanted to go home. So, after bringing him upstairs and getting him settled, I ran out again.
The new gelato place doesn't know how to handle more than one customer. By the time I got my large decaf cappuchino, 3:50. Susan was waiting for me in my lobby, starting to panic.
4:00. The phone rings. We talked, animatedly with the producer for 20 minutes. She loved the book, had tons of questions, told us to keep next Tuesday free, and that we'd be hearing from her. We got off the phone, not any closer to knowing if we'd be on the show. Who won. What had happened.
Within 10 minutes and a flurry of emails, we'd both been booked.
It was a quiet, surreal, strange moment. There was a half-hearted high five, an awkward hug, and the glimmerings of what to wear panic.
And then the real drama started to unfold.
I tried on the super cool theory pants I got years ago, 2 ultra sleek pairs, and found neither of them fit. So, in the midst of almost the biggest news of my entire life, the "you're a failure" anorexic part of me surged to the surface. The universe was smacking me in the face, making sure I'd hold tight to my new mindset that size didn't matter. Know what? In that moment, it totally did. It was like the Darth Vader/Luke standoff. The dark side battling the light. The old me trying to destroy the new me. It was epic folks.
In the midst of my pants freak out, Iz freaked out. Sobbing because she'd kept Jack company during the interview and felt I owed her that wasted time back.
These are what I call my life colliding moments. When disparate parts of me have to coexist in real time. It's usually not pretty. I generally end up screaming and in tears. This though, was so overwhelming, I couldn't process what she was saying and just walked away. Going forward I have to remember it was an exceedingly successful tactic.
I started calling, emailing, tweeting. And that started to make it real. Some people were utterly and completely thrilled. Some nonchalant. Some pissed. How could I share amazing news without stirring up some family drama? My reality.
And then I went out to dinner, a birthday celebration, in the east village. I could barely talk at that point and had trouble staying in the moment. I got home at 12, ears frozen, throat raw, still in this unbelieving place.
At the moment my head's pounding as if a sledge hammer's been smashing into my skull during my mostly sleepless night. Next on the agenda? What I think is going to be a heated PTA meeting.
And then full-scale, what to wear panic will be setting in.