They’re on to me, and that 6 kilos of crack cocaine that I might accidentaly have slipped into my own luggage when I wasn’t looking…

They’re on to me, and that 6 kilos of crack cocaine that I might accidentaly have slipped into my own luggage when I wasn’t looking…

 

Let’s talk about this fraud complex I suffer from.

The one where every show I do, I am certain that this is the one where everyone will find out that I can’t actually sing.

Where everyone will shake their heads and ask themselves, “Who does she think she is?”

The one where every post I publish is the one where every reader will unanimously quit subscribing to this blog, on account of their realization that I can’t actually write.

The one that compels me to dress-up like an adult for parent teacher interviews, so I can keep the teachers at bay yet another year without them discovering that I’m not a real mom.

The one that stresses me out for the 24 hours that precedes my monthly meetings with my boss. The ones where she realizes that I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, and I’ve been faking it all these years…

What the hell is that about?

I mean, I’m not the most super talented person on earth or anything, I know that. I admit it. But I’m at least kind of amusing or entertaining in one way or another, most of the time.

And I’ve seen and met many a confident performer/writer/musician who really Really REALLY sucked (I’m sorry but really, I have) who were either entirely oblivious to their level of suckyness or just didn’t care.

And I think that’s awesome.

Why am I not one of them?

WHY?

Why does performing almost always need to feel like crossing the US border?

Oh god, here we go… They’re on to me, and that 6 kilos of crack cocaine I might accidentally have slipped into my own luggage when I wasn’t looking…

Or like I’m scared that maybe I’m trying to illegally immigrate into the country, and I was so sneaky about the plan that I didn’t even tell myself about it, and now is the moment I am going to find out… as they bust me.

Why?

Why does preparing for a show feel like trying to think of ways to trick the audience into believing that that I’m real?

And real how? A real what?

I’m not an… anything. I’m just Jen.

How can I possibly be faking being Jen? And what idiot would take on such a painfully draining and unrewarding task?

Okay, so what if that’s all this is about?

What if those other people aren’t scared to share their art, their opinions, themselves etc… because thy aren’t trying to be anything they aren’t?

I mean, what if I let go of worrying about being a singer or a writer or a burlesque performer or a mom or a counselor or whatever and all I had to be was me?

Just me.

What if, whether it was at my kid’s school, or on stage, or at work, or whatever… I just had to be Jen?

Would I finally relax and be mindful and present in the moment, without hyperventilating and sending myself into a state of pre-performance hysteria?

I’d like to think I would.

But let’s be honest.

I would probably just be convinced that this is the day that everyone discovers that I’m not really Jen…

 

xxJenniferJunexx

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