No One is Normal

At Least Ira Glass Says I don't have to be Good at Stuff

We are all so hard on ourselves. Not the right people, of course. The bad people think they’re great and perhaps I am oversimplifying but they’re all narcissistic sociopaths, amirite? But all the good, cool people I love seem to always want and expect more from themselves than might be reasonable.

I was talking to a friend today who is struggling with sugar. And there was an office party with cake and it spun her. Why is she the only person in the world who can’t eat sugar like a normal person?! Why does she feel the need to pump it directly into her veins like a rabid addict? Why does she fantasize that one piece of cake could be everlasting like a gobstopper? Why does she want to fly into the air and swoop down like a vampire on the cake and fang it, suck all the frosting out and make it immortal so they can live together forever? By her I mean me, obviously. But she did struggle with the ‘why aren’t I normal like everybody else’ piece.

Yo! Because no one’s normal. I mean, not that I’ve seen, for the most part. Even if people at the office party are “normal” with cake, I’m sure they have some other weird thing you’re choosing to overlook so you can be mad at yourself. My brother is normal in the sense that he’s quite reasonable and emotionally regulated. But to him, it’s fun to sit in a deer blind for 9 hours. So, what’s our standard of normalcy?

I’m teaching a storytelling class. Most everyone is new to storytelling. They’re not performers or writers. Just regular, lovely people who signed up for a class to learn how to tell their story. It’s week 2. And they were so upset that they were still editing. Why didn’t their story just come out like it does for David Sedaris?

They wondered, why are they so BAD AT THIS???!!!

Dude. Sedaris spends half his time editing. At least he said something like that in his master class. No one’s thing….just flows out of them perfectly. Except that day when Dolly Parton wrote I Will Always Love You and Jolene in the same day. That was truly something special. But generally, we’re all treading water and adjusting and changing, and retrying things, and just not there yet. For quite a while.

I had all kinds of wisdom to share via a famous Ira Glass quote. He talks about how when we’re starting to art, our taste is so good. So much better than we are. And it’s painful. We know enough to know we’re not good. And we just have to go through it. I shared this with big-hearted compassion and possibly a little inspo.

Then I had my writing class last night. That I’m taking. An hourlong drama writing class. I’ve written comedy over half my life but I’m trying something new. I’m on Week 2. The feedback on my beat sheet was something like “There’s some really good parts, but I’m not sure who I’m rooting for, or what the story is about exactly.”

And because I’ve been working with my students on being in the process and being easy on themselves, I was able to hear this productively. There are things I need to clarify. That’s okay. It’s part of the process. It’s normal.

Kidding! I wanted to die. My thought process was something like, F you, F this, this sucks. I shouldn’t be here. Why did I sign up for this? I’m not good at anything. Why was I born? I’m outta here!

It’s hard to be in the process. It’s hard to not be where I want to be. In AA we say “sometimes you’re in the hallway.” Just not there yet. Not in the room, but on your way.

And I think, I’m always in the hallway for something. And sometimes that hallway is like the one in the Shining—creepy, getting longer, and way too cold.

But…so are you! Right? I mean. I think that’s my point. Not to drag you down with me but I’ve always felt it was a long, lonely horrible hallway. Everyone one else is in the room where it happens. But if what I’m positing above is true. And I think it is. Then we’re hallway people. (The good people, not the jerkheads). My cake friend is there, my story class, and me constantly. Not my brother, he’s in a deer blind somewhere.

The hallway is probably the most crowded place. The most normal place. The place to be.

She didn’t mind the hallway.