Last night I put a dream to rest. 

Ever since discovering Spillit I wanted to be a storyteller.  I went to every Slam and tried to express myself.  I even took a workshop with a master storyteller, arming me with all the tools I need to craft an interesting story.  No matter how terrible my performances were, I kept going up.  I was determined to get better.  After more than a year, I can confidently state that I don’t tell good stories.

I still want to.  But desire has nothing to do with talent.  I played a game once that called for speaking in different accents.  The idea is to make you laugh at yourself, and others.  Before Spillit, I wouldn’t play that sort of game because doing something silly for an audience would terrify me.  Now that I’ve conquered my fear of being a fool and willingly join the other reindeer, I discover I am just bad at the games. I’m not held back by my lack of trying – just lack of skill.

The way I express myself in my head doesn’t translate when I speak.  It’s the same when I dance.  My movements are uncoordinated fits but in my head I’m making grand gestures.  No amount of effort seems to defeat my lack of expression.  It’s frustrating.  More than that though, it’s scary.  I wonder if my words typed read as banal as my live performance?

I have to believe otherwise or I would just give up.  As for my life on a stage…  I have no desire to flog that nag any longer.