the vulnerability hangover

For some reason, this post title sounds like the title to a Big Bang Theory episode. That has nothing to do with anything, but I felt the need to make note of it.

Anyway, back to the story I haven’t started yet….

I almost called her and asked if we could re-record because I felt so exposed. It was Friday morning, and I had woken up with a vulnerability hangover so bad that I read almost an entire book to distract myself from it. Brain on Fire by Susannah Cahalan, for anyone wondering, but I digress. I recorded a podcast on Thursday. Or, I was interviewed on one, rather, and I’d been dreading it since she asked me to be a guest two months ago. I don’t love to hear my voice on recording, and it’s a struggle for me to talk freely about myself to an audience. I know, I know… I teach to large groups every week, but it’s on a specific topic that isn’t me, and I’m essentially a mobile help-desk for other people’s well-being. It feels useful. Natural, even. Even still, though, I gathered my things and met with my interviewer because I believe in her and what she’s trying to do. It also helped that she assured me that she knows how to edit.

I don’t want to say too much, as the interview is hers to release when she’s ready, but I do want to explore a piece of our conversation that was so perfectly timed - not just perfectly timed within the two hours we talked, but within the day, the week, the period of my life as it is right now. It’s a simple question, really, and likely one that is frequently asked by interviewers, but the answer is always bigger than the words, it seems.

side note: That last statement makes sense in my head, but I recognize that nobody else lives in my head, so if you’re furrowing your eyebrows to understand it, trust that you’re probably in good company.

The question: “What makes you feel inspired?” My answer was immediate, easy, and it was the most sure answer I had for her throughout the entire conversation. “I’m inspired by people who are afraid to do vulnerable things but still do them.” I’m not sure if this was by design on her part (if so, it was brilliant), or if it was happenstance, but it led up to several very vulnerable moments, during which I surprised myself by speaking openly about a couple of pretty significant transitions in my life. We talked about why I left Texas - not just why I chose Oklahoma - a question that, just days before, when asked by someone, I’d only given a partial answer to. We talked about why I didn’t leave four years ago after securing a house and a job in another state - again, something I only gave a partial answer to. We talked about what it would be like to turn back time to do something differently, and I answered fully and honestly - only after a quip about Cher, of course. We talked about bravery and trust and boundaries and finding our edges. We talked about the importance of human connection - a need that, to this day, takes a long time for me to give in to, despite how I present myself. There’s a solid chance we dove into that, as well, but I’ve subconsciously blurred so much of the conversation because vulnerability hangover, you know?

I think that this topic got my attention because there isn’t really a lot of dialogue around it, and perhaps there should be. I mean, there are memes and quotes and such tossed about social media in the name of inspiration, but how often do we read them, think “oh, that’s nice,” and then continue on autopilot throughout our day? I do it. I mean, I don’t really share them, but I definitely read them and move on. And I tell people when they inspire me, but rarely in detail. I don’t give the why. I just say that they do, and, really, it’s not enough. Inspiration is beautiful, but only made tangible with our words. When we feel it, we should feel fearless in talking about it. I mean, just that day a friend hit ‘post’ on a blog he had written about a very traumatic time in his life, and then he shared it publicly - something I’ve not been brave enough to do yet. Another friend did his final rehearsal for his first live music show - something I will never be brave enough to do. I also have no interest in that, but that’s neither here nor there. Another friend confessed his struggle with attaching to people too quickly, and, while I’m on the opposite side of that struggle, I know how hard it is to speak it out into the world. And then I walk into this gal’s recording space - a room in her home where she is finally chasing her own dream with undeniable spunk instead of trying to manifest someone else’s. I acknowledged each of them, but just acknowledging these bits of bravery doesn’t seem sufficient.

So, to circle back up to Friday morning’s vulnerability hangover remedy, as I closed the book and willed myself not to call her for a redo, I thought about these people, and all of the other people I encounter on a near-daily basis who are, in some way, saying “fuck you fear, because I’m doing the thing anyway.” To each of you, thank you for being a very real inspiration in a very real way. And to the Red Dust Rising Podcast, thank you for creating a space to have these conversations. All of you are pure magic.