I'm OK, You're Mistaken

Let's get one thing clear – my self esteem is fine. Really. Depending on your yardstick, it's more than fine and up into "inaccurately inflated:" for instance, in high school I was, like every other teenage girl, frightfully insecure about my looks and my weight. (It truly did not help to constantly be hearing, from "helpful" folks, "You could be pretty if you'd only...") It didn't take me too long into adulthood to decide that I was just yummy, thank you, and if you don't like it, it's because I'm not your taste. At almost 100 pounds over my high school weight, I felt SO much more attractive than I did at 16 and 17. I'm now decades older, and I still feel more attractive. I am clear on the fact that others don't agree with me, but it's their loss. Born at a different time and place, I would be the epitome of attractive, and skinny girls would be pitied.

The year my husband and I were engaged, his sister phoned me to ask what size(s) I wore, so she could Christmas shop for me. When I told her (accurately!) she said, "You are not that big!"

"Yes, I am. That's what I wear. That's what I have on right now." This was only two years after high school. I was maybe 10 pounds heavier than I'd been in school, but I was no longer overwrought about it. And I have never been one of those women who wants to receive clothing that's too small. That's just silly and a waste. If I own something, I want it to fit. I have never had "fat clothes" for "bad days" and "skinny clothes" for "motivation."

"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself! You are an attractive young girl! You should dress like it!"

"Well, thank you, but that's what size I wear." I offered to let her look through my closet.

"You are not that big!"

I spent the next 20 minutes getting a ringing lecture on self esteem, and on how I should never get "down on" myself. I sat there wondering not only why she wouldn't take my word for it – if I was going to lie or be delusional, I would have made myself smaller! - but which of us was more "down on" me, me or the one who thought I couldn't be attractive at my size.

She bought me a 100% cotton, button front blouse, 2 ½ sizes too small. I crammed myself into it once, washed it in cold water and hung it to dry, and it still was never again going to button over my chest. Months later, she asked my husband why I never wore it, and he told her. The next Christmas she bought me socks. I loved those socks – I wore them for years, until they had holes in them.

Of course, I've also alienated other large women. Not on purpose, mind you, but I'm just too blunt and literal. They tend to assume we're kindred souls, and say things like, "You know what it's like to struggle with your weight," or "You know what it's like to try every diet and fad out there." No, I don't. I don't struggle. I've never been on a diet, much less a fad diet. I've never asked my doctor for a weight loss prescription. (I know a few people who thought I was crazy or not very bright when I didn't get on Fen Fen – until it turned out to cause heart failure.) I've had women say to me, "You know what it's like to stand there eating Haagen-Dazs over the sink at 3 a.m." and, "You know how it is when you nibble on a salad in front of people, then go home and eat an entire pizza by yourself." Again, no. I don't. I've never eaten in the middle of the night, even when I was awake with pregnancy or kids. I've never eaten a whole pizza, alone or otherwise. I don't nibble in front of people. If I want dessert or another trip to the buffet, I get it.

I find this to be admirable. Others call it being oblivious.

I have discovered that my factual-to-understated way of communicating lends itself to misunderstanding – the irony is that I communicate that way precisely to avoid misunderstanding.

Years ago, I complained to a friend that I always got cast in bit parts, frequently without lines. He was appropriately sympathetic. I thought it was understood that the reason I was frustrated was because I was capable of playing much larger parts, and doing it well.

When I was cast as a lead, I invited him to the show. Afterward, he said, "You never told me you could act."

"I've been doing this since I was a kid! You knew that."

"But you never told me you were any good."

What? I was not understanding this line of inquiry. He wasn't understanding why I was puzzled.

"You said you always get little bitty, no line parts."

"I do."

"I figured that meant you couldn't act! If you can act, why do you get little bit parts?"

"I don't know! That's why it annoys me!"

OK, that's oversimplifying. I did have a good idea why. Sure, I'm talented, but so are lots of other people. Plus, I rarely look like the picture a director has in their head. Maybe they're turned off by my lisp. Maybe they want someone younger, thinner, older, darker … whatever.

Years after the fact, I heard something second hand that may not be true, but sounds pretty credible. A director I frequently auditioned for, who praised my work but rarely cast me, was somehow testing me. This director was apparently waiting for the day I stormed in, furious over a casting decision, and 1. demanded to know why I wasn't cast in a lead role and 2. demand a larger part. Then s/he'd know that I was "ready," that I "really want it."

Even after I've had a long time to consider this (and yes, it does appear that other people had such tantrums and it worked), this still makes no sense to me. I can't stand whiny, prima donna fits. Why in heaven's name would anyone want to promote "it's not faaaaaiiiir, what about meeeee?" behavior? The theory, apparently, was that it prepared you to survive in a cutthroat business, but I don't buy it. I've known people who wanted it so badly they hurt down to the roots of their teeth, they lost sleep, they couldn't eat, they would have sold their own mothers – that wanting has zero effect on a person's talent, and more importantly, on their work ethic. In my opinion, "wanting it" is a poor reason for casting decisions.

But again, apparently word went around that I had low self esteem. After all, my only reaction to both praise and to a walk-on part was to say, "Thank you." Apparently the belief was that if I believed in myself, I'd be more self centered and greedy. I find that to be particularly amusing and flawed thinking – I've always found blowing one's own horn to be a sign of low self esteem.

I think anyone's work ought to stand on its own. If my work is good, hire me. If it's not, don't. Pretty simple stuff.

It's annoying to me when someone asks about my "qualifications" or training instead of just asking to see my work. This is not because I'm embarrassed by my credentials, but because I've known extensively credentialed hacks and amazingly talented amateurs. Look at my work – my acting, writing, photographs, anything I've done - and tell me what you actually think, not what you think my credentials indicate.

I've learned, through trial and error and observing human nature, not to do certain things, even though I personally see no problem with them. I know that, for instance, if I had mentioned that I'd never had a solo singing role, I wouldn't have gotten the first one that I did; the same goes for the first time I wore a mic for a singing part, and the first time I made a wedding cake. Say, "I've never..." and chances are, you never will. Say, "Of course I can," and you'll get the chance.

I know not to express any reservation or dismay to a client – at least not if I want the job. I thought that people who'd known me for years should be exceptions, though; they're not.

A friend hired me, years ago in the days of film photography, to do some publicity photos. They wanted studio photos, with a cloth backdrop and studio lighting. That's more complicated than shooting on location photos, my specialty. Back in the days of film, it also meant light meter readings and Polaroids to make sure your settings were correct. If you screwed up, you wouldn't know until the photos were developed, and by then it was too late to fix it. You'd have to set up another shoot and try to get it right this time, and the images would never be exactly the same.

My husband is good at things I am bad at, and vice versa. (I think that's why God planned for conception to require input from two people.) At the time, he was unarguably better at studio setups than I was. He might still be better. Still, he was unavailable for this shoot, which had to be done in time for things like publication deadlines. I had to transport our portable studio, set up, take readings and shoot on my own. I mentioned to the client, an old friend, that I wished my husband could come along and cover my back. "You'll get perfectly decent, serviceable photos; he's just got more experience than I do."

The shoot went very well. The photos are delightful; I was proud of them then, and I'm proud of them now. One participant used the individual portrait taken of her on that day as her business portrait for several years afterward. Still, it was more work than I'm used to, since I couldn't slack off and run on autopilot, and I had no backup.

My friend seemed amazed out of all proportion. "These are great! These are amazing! I can't believe how good these are!"

Finally I said, "You know, all that enthusiasm is a tiny bit insulting. It's as if you didn't think I could do it."

"Well, I didn't. I mean, I had my doubts."

"I told you you'd get perfectly decent, serviceable photos! If I couldn't do it, I wouldn't have taken the job!"

"I figured 'decent and serviceable' meant total garbage. I was thinking we'd have to reshoot with Dan."

Wow. My literal tendencies bite me in the butt again. Here was someone who'd known me for years, had seen my work, and still didn't "get" me.

I've avoided having a blog for years because it just seemed a little too "all me, all the time!" I've been writing since I was a kid. I have the binders, the stationery, the yellow legal pads, and now the word processors full. I have the requisite manuscript that should be sent to a publisher. Still, I rarely had anyone, even my own family, read anything. This was again taken as a sign by some that I thought the work was no good. I'd get little pep talks about how good I was, how I shouldn't hide my talents, how I should believe in myself. It gets a little old, this idea that I think I'm no good at anything.

So, for the record, and forever immortalized, here it is: I realize that I am bright. I know that I have talent. I really, truly do. I am not afraid that someone will dislike me or my work. I am well aware that yes, indeed, someone WILL dislike me and/or my work, and that's OK. Opinions about alien life, Elvis' death or Lady Gaga's talent DO NOT actually form or alter reality. I am what I am despite what anyone, including me, might say or think.

OK? I'm amazing. Can we give it a rest?