Grow some

Grow some cajones!

Fear is a terrible thing. It is defined as "a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc., whether the threat is real or imagined" on dictionary.com. When reading that definition, the term that strikes me most is "whether the threat is real or imagined." I suppose that we all are confronted by fears that are real and react accordingly. It's the imagined fears, though, that seem to be the most paralyzing.

Like most performers, I have to struggle through stage fright from time to time ... but for the most part, I have always conquered it. In all honesty, I don't know how or why I am able to beat back that sense of impending doom ... I imagine that it is simply years of experience combined with decent preparation that allows me to (on occasion, at least) become fearless on stage. I've made a complete fool of myself so many times that I'm not terribly troubled about doing it again.

Working with a number of stand-up comedians lately (trying to develop material and help them find their voice ... while in the process, trying to find my own) I have been frustrated every time I see somebody holding themselves back. I have also recognized that the primary culprit is their own inhibitions and fear of looking, appearing or sounding foolish. Just last night I explained to a number of up-and-coming comics that "cool" and "comedy" simply cannot co-exist in your mindset. James Dean was cool ... but he sure wasn't very funny, was he? If you're worried about being "cool" onstage, typically that's the last thing people are going to think of you. "Cool" is being yourself. "Cool" is being fearless. "Cool" is the willingness to make a jackass out of yourself to bring a smile to somebody's face.

But ... that's easy talk.

The opposite side of the equation is when the performer is off-stage ... where we spend the majority of our lives. And it is off-stage that fear (real and imagined) affects me the most. I find it amazing that I can stand up in front of a room full of people and sling jokes and stories and feel absolutely comfortable ... but when I sit at a table in a restaurant with somebody whose company I really enjoy, I become mush. I get caught up in appearances. I become overwhelmed by an inability to speak my mind, express my feelings.

For example, if I am attracted to a woman who I do not know very well ... typically I become a bumbling fool trying to steer the conversation anywhere but where I would like it to go. It takes time to develop trust and comfort with people and until that threshold is crossed ... well, I don't express much of anything that is real, true or honest about me. I'm a fairly intelligent, thirty-eight year old man ... with a career, responsibilities, children ... but I can so easily revert right back to being that thirteen-year-old shy little idiot. A roomful of strangers is the most terrifying thing I know ... an audience full of strangers is gratifying.

Maybe it's just because I've been burned more in "real" life that I have on stage. I can tell an audience how great they've been and how much I appreciate them ... but I can't tell somebody I've just met that I really dig them, am attracted to them and would like to spend more time getting to know them.

I need to grow some cajones too!