I Should Have Told You, I Know

I should have told you, I know.

Bur most of all, I should have told Francine.

Yes, I should have told her and all my dear local pals about the chance to see me live. Telling a story.

Instead, 30 strangers got to experience it.

The event was The Flame – New West which is an offshoot of The Flame – Vancouver, a popular monthly storytelling series modeled after the wonder that is The Moth.

There are only three rules

1. Stories must be TRUE.

2. Stories must be about YOU.

3. Stories must be told in a FEW. (8 minutes or less!)

I Should Have Told You, I Know

I only told my two kids that my pitch was accepted. And my twin nieces when I was invited to a very special third birthday party on the same day. And my sister because she wondered if I could drive Mom to the party.

That’s it. Just five people knew.

Why didn’t I tell more? It was the first time in a very long while that I would be speaking solely from memory, not from a script or notes, and I simply didn’t want any familiar faces in the crowd. None. Except my daughter. But only because she agreed to scoot into the shadows when I was up at the mic.

Why didn’t I tell my 96 year-old mother? That’s a tough one. Probably because she would have demanded a solo performance (the 7:00pm start time was too late) or requested to hear it over the phone. I dreaded both.

In person complications: Francine is a very gifted speaker. She was a professor at the University of British Columbia for eight years and has delivered countless lectures and speeches ever since. I know her tips would have been insightful and well-meaning but it was important to me to do this my way.

Over the phone complications: I had grave concerns about losing my voice before the show …

Whatever. I’m in hot water either way.

Perhaps Not a Good Idea to Google the Others

Silly me. I googled the other storytellers and unearthed five of them. Of course, they’d all recently done standup, or inspirational lectures, or story telling. Or all three. Excellent. I was suddenly terrified. Who was I to think I could do this?

And honestly. Who needs to go to the gym when you’ve got a performance coming up? Even though I pawed incessantly through the restorative Brene Brown’s ‘Daring Greatly,’ my heart was in overdrive the entire day. But guess what? So were six others.  I swooned when the others confessed they also felt  like bolting. It was truly comforting as 7:00pm drew inexorably closer and we morphed into one giant cohesive deer blinded by the flame.

How did it go?

Laura Drummond, our delightful host, immediately calmed the waters. She’s a natural. Warm, engaging and clearly experienced. On the dot of 7:00 she introduced the talented singer Carmina Bolinao. Another natural.

Things improved even more with the first speaker. And then the next. Ok, I really should have invited my family. Then the next storyteller got up. Why didn’t I invite my pals? They’d have loved this. We broke for a wee break and I toddled to the concession for my complimentary “thank you” wine. I made sure I only had one or six sips, just to take the edge off. I was due up after another Carmina song. Her voice carried me away and I was suddenly backstage again at Listen To Your Mother Seattle in 2015, taking a quick nip of chocolate vodka from the communal flask … That was so much fun. Maybe I could do this.

I somehow found myself standing up at the front in response to Laura’s introduction and began to talk. Nevermind that the mic stand couldn’t be lowered, requiring me to mostly stand on my tippy toes like a ballerina. The words just somehow bubbled up and out.

(Aren’t those cool paintings behind me? Students at the local high school did them.)

The audience couldn’t have been more gracious. They mercifully laughed in all the right places and some even shed a few tears. I’d rehearsed my bit (it’s from my upcoming memoir) so many times that I was confident I wouldn’t cry. But then the gal just ahead of me shared a moving story about her dying sister. It left me momentarily reliving a few sad memories of my own, and to my utter horror my throat closed when I reached my own poignant part. I willed myself to lighten up and carry on.  And I did.

Poof. Done and dusted.

Would I do it again? Yes, please.

I promise to apprise you, Francine.

Maybe.

Enough about I should have told you, I know. I’m curious about you. Have you ever kept quiet about an upcoming personal do? Better yet, has fear prevented you from doing something brave? If you’d care to share, I’d love to hear.