Growing up, I always wanted to be famous. When I was 5 years old, I wasn’t dreaming of becoming a doctor, fire fighter, astronaut, or first female president. Any of those professions would have sufficed if they were void of responsibility and I ended up on TV, but otherwise I had little interest. I wanted fame. I wanted attention. The problem was (as if there were only one…) I wasn’t particularly talented, inspirational, or cute in a stand-out way. I didn’t spend any time developing cool talents like those prodigy kids on Ellen. I just wanted to be famous. So when I would walk past a wishing well at a mall or if I was ever given the opportunity to break the wishbone on Thanksgiving, I’d wish for fame. And a puppy.  And then I would wait for something to happen. 

When asked to write an essay in elementary school about what I wanted to be when I grew up (such a cliche prompt), I wrote that I wanted to be like Rosie O Donnell. She was the only famous person I knew by name. I referred to everyone else by their stage name, like “‘Kelly’ from Saved by the Bell”, “‘Ashley’ from Fresh Prince of Bel-Air” or “Miss Congeniality”. So when it came time to write a paper about my dream career, I picked “Rosie O’Donnell” because she was famous and I knew her name. I honed in on the outspoken, lesbian talk show host and decided her career was one worth aspiring for, which proved to be particularly ironic given my later discovered sexual orientation and career choice, but I don’t want to skip too far ahead. 

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In my younger years, I figured I could be a singer/dancer. Like all I had to do was decide and it would be a reality. This dream was particularly farfetched, as I never had any formal dance training or a singing lesson. I practiced pretty regularly to the audience of stuffed animals in my bedroom. I also sang beautifully into the mirror, and my audience member thought I was fantastic. Sadly, my hopes of being a singer were dashed when my hot, male baby-sitter caught me performing “Getting Jiggy with It” by Will Smith in my living room at age 9. I thought he was downstairs playing video games with my brother, but apparently he came upstairs and I was too enthralled watching my own reflection in the television to notice him. I was two versus in when I did some spin move that moved my gaze from my reflection to my surroundings when I noticed him watching me and laughing hysterically. I was mortified. Sadly, it would be decades until I performed publicly again. 

After my performance, I developed a debilitating fear that any cute boy would laugh at me, so I abandoned singing and dancing. So much so that I wouldn’t even sing if a male person other than my brother was in the car until about 2 years ago. So instead of singing and dancing, I began exploring a field that would certainly reduce the odds of embarrassment and would be just as easy to get into: Acting. 

I auditioned for a school play and managed to land the role of “Narrator 5” in the 3^rd grade Christmas play “Surfin’ Santa”. In 1999, those 4 lines were the most important things to me. Drastically more important than both the impending doom of Y2K and the release of the 98° Christmas album, “This Christmas”. All I cared about was performing my 4 lines to the LA talent agents who would certainly attend a Christmas play at a suburban Colorado elementary school. But similarly to Y2K, the expected outcome drastically differed from the reality. Computers knew ‘2000’ came after ‘1999’, and I was still expected to show up to Mrs. Faber’s 3rd grade class after Christmas break, with no offers to star in my own Disney Channel Original Series. At least 98° did not disappoint. 

The rest of my elementary school acting career followed the same trajectory. Turned out, the only way I could land a significant role in an elementary school play was if my best friend, Brooke forced the music teacher to let me perform alongside her. Brooke was born to be on stage. She would have ended up on Ellen, talking about playground fashion dos-and-don’t. Sadly, this was the time period when Ellen Degeneres was still being publicly shamed for coming out. More proof that when we shame gays, everyone loses. Brooke also had an incredible way for getting adults to do whatever she wanted.  I assure you, she only used her powers for good. And to avoid doing math homework. 

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For a brief time in middle school, I entertained the idea of being a musician. My older brother was in his first punk/screamo band, playing shows at seedy Denver bars. My parents would let me attend with them. I was typically the youngest person there by 4 years, but that’s where I saw my first clan of punk girls. With black hair, black clothes, and a real “fuck you” attitude that I aspired for but wouldn’t dare embrace. So I did what any young person with an allowance and no real financial responsibilities would do. I bought a $400 drum set and started to “teach myself” the drum; which of course means I  “practiced” once a week and then just listened to my favorite punk bands and imagined myself drumming along perfectly. Some would say I was manifesting it. Others would say I just didn’t want to do the work. The latter would be correct. 

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My music career ended when I joined the talent show with my boyfriend and good friend, and I had such stage fright about performing in front of the school that I became physically ill and my mom made me stay home from school that day. I think it was her motherly instinct to protect me from shame, so when I displayed the slightest signs of physical illness, she insisted I stay home. She also knew I barely knew the song we’d be performing and my self confidence couldn’t handle a blow like that. I already had a unibrow and just had some teeth pulled that left very visible gaps in my smile. She knew I wasn’t ready. To which I say: Thanks, mom. 

My interest in acting resurfaced in high school when I took two acting classes, however my assumption that my acting teacher saw no potential in me, compounded by my fear that a cute boy would laugh at me, and in addition to my inability to get “in” with the Drama kids, equated to disowning acting entirely. As I type this, I can’t believe how easy it was for me to give up on my so-called dreams… 

 Alas, my quest for fame continued in the form of high school leadership positions. I got into student council and ran for whatever position would give me the most screen time in assemblies and morning announcements. I ended up being Student Body President. I ran unopposed…so not quite the triumph it seems but whatever. It helped me get into college and I think I have a framed photo somewhere in my high school’s hallway. I have not visited it, but I dream of it often. Nearby a lost student gazes at it, day dreaming of their own success due to my inspiration. But more likely, there is just a weird couple making out underneath it because it hangs in a rarely visited hallway.

I had one last ditch effort in college to get famous. I looked at all the different careers that led to screen time, and by process of elimination, I found one more I figured I could try., I decided to be a Journalism major. I mean, Katie Couric gets approached on the street, right? Even the Denver 9News weather lady Kathy Sabine is locally famous. I could settle for Denver Metro area fame. After all, I’d been reading for what, like 15 years? All I needed was a couple of pant suits and to practice reading with a teleprompter and vuola, prime time news anchor!

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It only took two journalism classes for me to realize that TV anchors don’t just read the news. They have to like, investigate shit. And I didn’t want to do that. I just wanted the job where someone else does the leg work, and I just get to look pretty and read stuff on weekday evenings. But that job doesn’t exist. So alas, I finally decided to give up on being famous. Clearly, I didn’t want to do any actual work to become famous. So I got my bachelors degree in Psychology and Ethnic Studies, and went on to grad school to become a therapist. 

I realize my phrasing makes it seem like I settled, but I actually love being a therapist, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. As I sit here and try to understand how someone goes from wanting to be famous, to having a career where your client’s are encouraged to pretend you don’t exist, I have come up with a couple explanations. First of all, fame is really a byproduct of what I wanted, and what I will likely always want, which is attention. And to make people laugh. And to make them feel heard and understood. Those are the things I always wanted. Fame definitely could have got me there, but I would have had to be vulnerable and let go of my fear of being embarrassed in front of men. And I needed 5 years of exposure therapy, also known as my mid twenties, in order to let go of that fear, so instead I became a therapist. 

The problem with being a therapist is you really only reach one person at a time. I shouldn’t say that’s the “problem” with being a therapist, because that’s like 60% of what being a therapist is. Giving your undivided attention to one person at a time. But I want to reach more than one person at a time. And I want to do so by being myself, not the professional version of myself who pretends I’m not as anxiety ridden as 60% of the people coming to me for help. Which brings me here, to writing this damn blog, which I started to reconcile my love for attention, coupled with my hope that if I talk about my life experiences, people will feel heard and understood. And if not, hopefully people will laugh. With me or at me. At this point, I’ll take what I can get.

So I hope this answers your questions regarding why I started a blog! Oh you never asked?? Well shit… 

 Also, how does one end a blog post? Asking for a friend…

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