Five Minutes of Fame

Every two weeks in the city where I live, a small group of bloggers and affiliates meets at a locally owned coffee shop to chat, troubleshoot, or share tips and ideas. I had been blogging somewhat consistently for a couple of weeks and wanting to keep the momentum; I finally made it to a meeting. As luck would have it, a journalist from a local news outlet had just surprised the group facilitator to do a story about Blogging and was asking to interview a few group members – today.

In one serendipitous moment, I found myself as one of only two bloggers to show up for the meeting today. I agreed to interview as an honest to goodness “blogger” with about ten posts under my belt and a page in the middle of reconstruction. The interview went well considering it was spur-of-the-moment. I was surprised at how relaxed I felt as I enthusiastically spoke of my “Self Censored” page for my five minutes of fame.

I watched the segment air this morning which caused cobwebs and dust to blow around those corners of my mind. I remember watching myself after another interview in what seems to be another lifetime. My dark brown hair was blown dry in a smooth shoulder length bob with professional, understated makeup. The dark gray skirt suit that I wore to important meetings was freshly out of the cleaners, and I wore a royal blue sweater because everyone still tells me that is definitely my color. I was to talk about a new independent living housing program for our clients and a family group which would help everyone with the transition. I had practiced and had index cards, and yet I froze. If not for my co-worker’s help, I would have been completely lost – what a disaster I thought. Whose idea was this anyway?

Today as I watched myself, I chuckled. I looked so comfortable in my own skin. My hair is short, gray and wild. My clothes were not pressed or laid out from the day before; plus my voice was still hoarse from a recent bout of laryngitis. I wasn’t prepared for the TV that day; I was flying by the seat of my pants, and yet I wasn’t afraid.

All is not perfect. My GPS doesn’t work very well, and the road is still crooked with plenty of bumps and ridges. I am content in my journey though, and I’m looking forward to seeing what’s around the bend. I think my younger self would be proud and relieved.

How would you answer the age-old question? What would you say to your younger self?