1. capable of or susceptible to being wounded or hurt, as by a weapon
2. open to moral attack, criticism, temptation, etc.
Vulnerability is scary as hell. By definition, it is opening yourself up to get kicked in the teeth by life, love, or whatever else you let close enough to completely annihilate you. So one would think that a sane person would avoid this at all costs, would not put themselves in a position to be hurt or disappointed or criticized. But we do it. Every day, in so many different ways, we do it. We put ourselves out there because really, that's the only way to get anything out of life. You stay guarded and you miss out on the hurt, but you miss out on the best stuff too.
One of the hardest things to do is to open yourself up to be criticized for something you have created, something you have given a part of yourself to. I have always admired people willing to sing, or play a song or tell jokes to people not knowing if they would be laughed off the stage or embraced as artistic geniuses. Doing that, being that vulnerable, seemed to me to be the ultimate act of courage. I never saw myself doing anything like that. Frankly, I just didn't think I had the balls.
So why in God's name am I sitting at the bar in East End Cafe, downing vodka in preparation to bare my soul to what seems like the entire city of Cincinnati??
Let's rewind. In making my list for this project, I wanted to pick a few things that would really put me out of my comfort zone, things that I would NEVER do if not forced. There were no shortage of things to choose from, but one came to me right away. I have always loved to write and have been writing for years, Mostly poems, but some short stories and the occasional really bad song. I write about what I am feeling and thinking, about the people and situations in my life, basically I put my soul on paper. Thus you can see why I have never been eager to share this with others. Criticism is never easy for me to take, but I felt like if I shared my writing and people laughed, or didn't get it, or didn't feel what I was trying to convey, that somehow that would be a personal failure. And since we have already established that I have deep seeded perfectionist issues, I was not about to give anyone the opportunity to not like what I wrote. So I kept it mostly to myself, sharing it with some friends but never, ever reading it. I had no problem letting some people read it, but it felt almost too intimate to read it in my own voice, to hear my feelings out there, naked with no protection. Not gonna happen. At least not until this project came along.
I have watched many a poetry slam and open mic night where people get up and put incredible voice to their work and I was always in awe. As much as I fantasized about being up there, I could never bring myself to get out of my seat and do it. Part of the reason is that I felt like I did not write things that people wanted to hear in the middle of a bar or coffee shop. See, I am a hopeless, sappy, ridiculous romantic, so mostly I write about love....new love, lasting love, unrequited love, unhealthy love, lost love, found love, (are you hearing Forest Gump's voice in your head too?)....basically anything that has to do with love, I have written about. Most of the poems that I had ever heard were socially conscious poems, poems about issues, about serious things, not about love! So I used the excuse that the venue was never right, that it was never the right time to read about love. But tonight, I will let go of that excuse....
I look up open mic nights in Cincinnati, which is not as easy as I had imagined it would be. After tons of searching, I find a calendar that has a list of open mic nights in Ohio and figure out that I really have two nights to choose from. I am not familiar with either of the bars that are holding these events and I am pretty sure they don't get a lot of poets fighting for stage time. I chose the one closest to me that has its open mic night on Tuesday. I figure Tuesday is my day that I teach a night class so I will work and then head over to the East End Cafe to take my opportunity at the mic.
As Tuesday approaches, I am so nervous I feel sick. So I block it out. Hey, denial works people. I just stopped thinking about it, tried to forget that I was setting myself up for potentially the most humiliating night of my life. Good times. All of a sudden, Tuesday is here, I am packing my bag for school and at little voice from the back of my head says, "Hey Einstein...do you even know what the hell you are going to read tonight?" Oh yeah, that. This is why denial is not a good strategy: Now I have about five minutes to get out of the house so I am not late for my first class and I haven't picked out a damn thing to read at this open mic night. I know I will not have time after class to find something and at this moment I don't know where the hell my notebook that holds all my latest writing is. Frantic, I find my old book of poems that I put together ten years ago and throw it in my bag, hoping that I will have time to find something suitable between classes. Great, I am finally going to read my stuff publically and it's not even my GOOD stuff! Dammit!!
Never as a professor, have I been as distracted as I was today. I seriously could not even tell you what the hell I lectured on today. All I could do is look at the clock and count down the hours until I would be on that stage with everyone looking at me and expecting to be wowed. Seriously. What the hell was I thinking? All I want to do is chicken out and say screw it, but I am committed to this project, and the fact is, I have no backup plan for my "thing" for today. This is it. Shit or get off the pot. My night class ends way sooner than I would like and I find myself on my way to my doom. I called my babysitter to ask if she could stay late so I would be able to do this. Part of me REALLY wanted her to say no so I would have a legitimate out, but, of course, she says she can stay as late as I need her. Fabulous. I arrive at East End Cafe about 30 minutes before the open mic session is scheduled to start. The entire way there, hand shaking, all I can think is there is NO WAY I will be able to do with without vodka. Lots and lots of vodka. I can't remember the last time I have been this nervous. I pull up outside what can only be described as a dive bar and at this point I am really rethinking my choice of venue. Something tells me that the clientele in this bar may not want to hear a dorky girl standing on stage reading about love. But I gotta do it. 35 days or bust! So I hop out of the car and walk into the dimly lit bar. Good sign: there are not very many people here. In fact, there is like NO ONE here! I love it! This may not be so bad after all. I make a beeline for the bar and before I can even sit down I order a lemon drop. Vodka is my friend, vodka is my friend.....
I down my shot and order another drink while I take in my surroundings. There is a stage with drums and microphones in the room adjacent to the bar. I can see it from where I am sitting but can't see the rest of the room (this becomes important later, trust me). I can feel the vodka warming me up and for the first time in several hours I am able to take a deep breath. I notice the two women sitting next to me and decide I better start chatting or this will be the longest thirty minutes EVER. I tell them about my 35 days project and they seem more excited than I am. They are so supportive and keep telling me that it will be great and I think I start to believe them. The bartender overhears our conversation and tells me that I need to sign up for open mic night. She is nice enough to bring over the girl who is running it all and she shows me a clipboard FULL of acts all preparing to perform tonight. I assure her that I will NOT be needing 15 minutes (good lord, it will be a miracle if I make it through 15 seconds!) so she agrees to let me go after the second band. Which means I have 30 more minutes to wait. UGH! ANOTHER LEMON DROP, PLEASE!!
After what seems like two seconds, the organizer chick is standing next to me telling me that the band before me is on their last song and I am up in about a minute. BIG. LUMP. IN. MY. THROAT. WANT TO THROW UP. NOW!
I seriously have no idea if my legs are going to support me when I get off of the barstool but the next thing I know, I am following her to the stage. She introduces me and then I am standing on stage, alone with the microphone and clutching my book for dear life.
Remember how I couldn't see the rest of the room where the stage was? Yeah, well it's FULL! FULL!! There are people everywhere and they are all looking at me.
"Uh, hi." I say. This is my first time doing this so be nice to me!"
That gets a few chuckles and then all eyes are on me...waiting....
At this point, I am not sure where my nerves went but they are GONE! I open my mouth, and the words just come out. My words, my feeling, my heart floating in this room of strangers. I finish and look up from my book to see a room full of people clapping and whistling. And now the nerves are back. Get me the hell off this stage. I'm trying to hustle my way off, when a couple of guys from the front yell, "Aren't you going to do an encore? You have to read another one!" Un-freakin-believable. I shake my head and try to keep walking but they start clapping and whistling again, so I figure why not?! I read another and now I am really done. I make my way back to the bar and collapse into the stool.
I cannot believe I just did that. And they didn't laugh. Better yet, they freakin cheered and asked for a damn encore. Now I am not arrogant enough to think they really wanted to hear another one, I am sure they were being nice to me but I'll take it. That was amazing. More than amazing. I was vulnerable, I put myself out there...and what I got back is immeasurable.
Whenever I have talked about my writing in the past, I have always said, "I write"; I just didn't feel like I could really call myself a "writer". You have to earn that title. But tonight, tonight I'm owning that. Crazy....it took the validation of a room full of strangers for me to feel like I can call myself a writer.
P.S. In case you were interested, here is the poem I read....
Nothing Without You
Can you show me
what you see
in me?
That strong and
beautiful
stranger
that is me
to you.
If I am the poet,
you are the poetry,
if I the song,
then you the melody
building me
chord by chord.
It is only through you,
with you,
because of you
does this strength,
this beauty
unfold.
Because there is no poet
without her poetry,
no song
without her melody,
no me
without you.
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