This past Friday there was another Spillit event held at the Amurica studio in Crosstown.  I was so inspired by the one before, I set aside time to make sure I came back.  I was trepidatious about this adventure but not for the usual socially-anxious reasons.  I set out that night intending to tell a story.  What made it so terribly hard to approach is that I had NO clue what story to tell.  The theme was education.  Pretty broad, pretty ubiquitous.  I even got a pep talk from Jamie Harmon prior to the show about just how broad and ubiquitous the topic can be.

Basically, I should tell a story about something I’ve learned.  It’s extremely fortunate I received that pep talk.  Not only did it shatter the flimsy construction of a story I tried to piece together that day (a stilted retelling of how I became a pariah at Bryn Mawr) but it also made me look at myself and admit the biggest lesson I have learned recently.  I decided in that moment to attempt a summation of how I learned to find success. 

I wrote my name down and plopped it in the box before I could talk myself into nervousness again.  I said to myself, “As long as I’m not first, this should be fine.”  I proceeded to snag a very comfortable chair and veg out to the beats of MC Griddle (yum!) and people watch.

Honestly, I am astounded how many people come in pairs or groups to this event.  I know that’s the typical thing-to-do when you go out but Spillit is such a different experience for me.  As Josh Campbell points out, most of his family lives far away, so the risk of offending someone with a story is minimal.  I, however, assume that any room with more than 20 people in it must know me or someone I’m closely related to.  It compounds my anxiety at telling any of my stories in detail.  Ah well.

I grabbed a small cup of white wine, to calm my nerves.  Right after that I was apprised of the BYOB option when a jovial group sat down next to me with their very own case of beer.  I like it when someone is honest about how much they plan to drink.  If I’d thought ahead, I’d have carried my typical tall boy of PBR, complete with paper bag.  (Yeah, I’m classy like that.)  But wine suits me just as well and free is my favorite vintage.

Before long the room was packed full and Leah Keys kicked off the evening.  After a brief welcome and some information about the event, Leah drew the first name for the slam.  I could be seen in the corner, hands together, whispering “Not me, not me, not me, not me…” and so naturally, she chose me.  My blood froze and my flight response kicked in, but I think running screaming from the room would leave a worse impression than anything I mumbled about in front of the group.  At least, that’s the logic I used to stand up and not run.

If I haven’t mentioned before, I suffer from intense stage fright.  Every time I’m in front of an audience I pretty much assume there will at least be tomatoes involved or worse, complete silence.  I’m pretty sure this stems from my habit of talking when I get nervous.  As a kid, whenever I’d go somewhere stressful like the doctor’s office, summer camp, or birthday parties, I would immediately go into an improv stand-up act.  My basic logic was that if people are smiling and laughing it means they are happy.  If I’m the source of that laughter, it must mean they are happy with me, right?

As it turns out, incessant talking and sarcastic wit are not the best tools for making a good impression.  Needless to say, my shenanigans did not go over well at other girls’ birthday parties.

So, I slipped my notes into my palm like a crib sheet and put on my bravest face.  One of my recent goals has been to overcome my performance anxiety.  I am a fairly sincere person and, when I’m able to relax, I tend to make a connection with people.  I feel like translating that to a stage environment can only improve my journey down this path.  I stared down that microphone and saw an audience of seemingly friendly faces.  I didn’t give myself time to react – I just started talking.

I don’t think I hit many of the points I meant to say.  I’m not even sure what I did talk about could be construed as a “story” in the traditional sense.  Honestly, I barely recall what happened in those 4 minutes except that I was sporting a mo hawk for the first time and I’m pretty sure I didn’t fart.  What I did was list the bullet points that led up to my personal renaissance this year.  For the first time, I told everyone what my biggest regrets in life are and what I’ve learned from them.  I’m sure I could have used more color and added more interesting details.  Frankly, I’m just glad I didn’t start crying.

So that happened.  The rest of the event continued while I watched, casually trying to contain my triumph.  I developed empathy for the people who also spilled that night.  I could see one person gripping the microphone so hard his hand was shaking.  There was another who talked really fast so he could get all of his story in.  One woman seemed to blank out at one point, caught up in her own memory.  These are moments that previously made me uncomfortable.  Like the speaker’s humanity was some kind of flaw in the performance.  Now I revel in the realness they represent.

(Photos of slammers courtesy of Amurica studios. )

Having spent my time behind the mic, I see it differently.  The magic of Spillit unfurled before me as I listened to people just like me go through their own version of stories.  Any bumps or hiccups are just part of the tale because – and here’s the trick – it’s how you want to tell it.  If I had started sobbing halfway through (which will eventually happen) it’s okay!  That’s just one of the colors I’m using to paint the picture of my memories.  The vulnerability I’m willing to unveil is the point.  The story is just a platform for that.

The rest of my night is a blur.  While I was intently present and listening eagerly to every story after mine, I couldn’t calm the blood pulsing in my ears.  I wanted to scream, dance, and do a cartwheel.  I wanted to get up there any tell ANOTHER story.  Internalizing all those emotions might be the greatest achievement of my adult life so far.  Okay, probably not – but the hyperbole gives you a window into my brain.  [Insert some moral about how telling a story at all was my contribution to the Education theme.]  Fortunately, I was filming most of the evening and have provided highlights for you on the youtube channel.

I scooted out as soon as they announced the winner – congratulations Dana Wilson!  She got a snazzy T-shirt and gets to participate in the Grand Slam later this year.  That’s where all the previous slam champions get together in a wrestling pit full of mud and clothesline each other while playing Red Rover in bikinis.  …  Hold on, I might have that mixed up with something else.  It’s more likely the slam winners will all tell stories that adhere to the theme Silver Linings.  I’m not 100% sure, so you should mark your calendars for November 21st and plan to be there.  Who knows, the mud pit might be next door at the Hi Tone?

If you want a chance to experience a slam before then, the next one is August 15th and the theme is Competition.  Go ahead and start working on your nerve now because it’s so much more fun when you get to spill.  What better material for a story?  Childhood rivalry? Student Council elections?  Workplace promotion?  Iditarod?  There are endless types of competition in the consumer-driven Amurican culture.  Which one changed you?

Even if you don’t want to stand up and talk, there is another way to participate.  The Spillit goddess provides a question that relates to the theme.  The one on Friday was “We sometimes say, ‘You learn something new every day.’  What is something that you recently learned, [sic] and how did it make you feel?”  Josh Campbell reads the answers to these anonymously in-between stories just to keep everyone on their toes.  It’s a delightful sort of round table experience.

Nights like this are rare.  Fun like this is exactly what you need to step out of the stressful real world for a few hours and just enjoy being alive.  I said it before and I’ll say it again – you’ll see me there, I wouldn’t miss it!