It’s hard to explain how good it feels to hear that. Let me try, though.
It tells me that I am reaching someone in a way that’s unusual to them. Whatever I’m saying is resonating in a way that is both familiar and exciting, which means that they don’t just feel drawn into the story – they feel welcomed.
Hearing this compliment also makes me kinda sad. Because it means that people don’t expect honesty.
We know that we are manipulated, minute by minute, to buy or believe one thing or another. The secret – that human connection is metered for commerce – is out. This acceptance has rotted into a resignation to take what we are given, believe what we are told, and snuggle into our box of like minds so that we are easier to target for the next Amazon Prime Day.
I’d like to think that i jumped head first into writing – sounds like such a noble, cool way to begin as a fearless artist. But I don’t think I can remember a time when I didn’t understand that presentation can go a long way. For example, it was tough being the middle child, but if I could flash my dimples in front of a crowd of aunts before Mom got my little sister out of her car seat, I could squeeze off a short set of knock knock jokes at the family cookout.
I’m here for your attention. And in between smiles, laughs, tears, and thoughts I use to tell you about what I’m learning about life, you feel something. If I want that, I owe it to you to be as real as I can. It’s a scary, rewarding task. But I’m up for it if you are.
One more thing … don’t tell Jeff Bezos about that kick-ass Amazon line. I just ordered some shelves, and I don’t want to anger our Benevolent Overlord while my highly discounted merch is in transit.
It’s not that I’m scared, or anything. I’m just frugal.
