LYRIC O’ THE DAY:
Simple joys have a simple voice,
It says why not go ahead?
Today kicks off Alex J. Cavanaugh's Insecure Writer's Support Group. It’s a little loving web support for writers to share their hopes, their fears, and their neuroses with other stark raving lunatics creative souls. Many thanks to Alex for putting this together with the grace and style we've all become accustomed to! So get comfortable, put on some show tunes, and show me your jazz hands. Because everyone’s a star today.
I am not a classic beauty.
My face is all angles and lines, and we’re talking more Picasso than Porizkova.
I am not photogenic. I’ve never been the girl in spring break photos with big doe eyes and blinding Chiclet white teeth.
I’m the girl who shows her uvula in pictures; the one that ruined your class photo with a well-timed gesture. You’re welcome.
I’m the funny one. Although at times I’ve been referred to as “strange,” “spaz,” and the ever popular, “dork.” Talent is so subjective.
Around age seven, I realized I was failing as a princess. Pink’s never been my color. That’s when I discovered Lucille Ball, and playing the jester seemed like a more viable plan, tiaras optional. I’ve spent my life following the irreverent girls, the ones who laughed too loud and too often, even at their own jokes. Olivia Newton John may have rocked her poodle skirt in Grease but I worshipped Rizzo’s smartass charm. Sally Field exuded quiet strength in Steel Magnolias but I wanted to be in your face like Shirley MacLaine.
Everything I write has humor in it. Making someone laugh is a high for me; my shot of tequila without the risk of waking up naked in a hall closet. To me, life is only worth living if you’re laughing. Maybe this stems from my career in health care. Humans are sensitive and easily broken creatures. I’ve learned that if you can’t find the joy in a bleak situation you’ll drown in sadness.
But there’s a serious side to my happy jester act, a truth that hides not so far under the surface. Humor is my way of dealing with insecurity, a way to mock the darkness before it can swallow me. My greatest fear is no one laughing, and then the joke’s on me.
But when someone finds me amusing, has their outlook brightened for even a moment by something I did or said?
Affirmation. Absolution. Acceptance. I banish the sober face of doubt for another day.
Humor is my insecurity blanket. So please, laugh with me. I want to bring you a smile, hell, I’ll even settle for a exasperated eyeroll. I’m easy like that.
“I’m not funny. What I am is brave.” --Lucille Ball.