Floppity Flop Flop

As in, belly flop. As in, what skiers call a yard sale. As in, face-first, down she goes, wipe-out. As in, epic failure.

The flop is the prize of the clown so long as they acknowledge it, thereby pleasing the audience in an illogical about-face.

Today, I flopped. Big time. But I didn’t get the laugh for calling myself on it in the moment(s).

An alternative title of this post could be “The Networking Flop: How I Totally Blew It.”

Let me count the ways…

1. Unprepared.

I arrived to an all-day open house-of-creatives for the intended purpose of meeting more people in the community. I forgot that a dialogue with someone requires me to show up, too. People might ask questions of me in return for my interest in them and their work.

2. Invented rules.

I made up an idea that because the event was on their turf, conversations had to revolve around them. It was their special day, after all, a celebration of talented tenants in the building. (I squelched the fact that I sublet a studio there, too…)

3. Projected old narratives/patterns onto people I just met for the first time.

I’ve experienced 30+ noteworthy years’ worth of colleagues, bosses, peers, and clients not taking me seriously because I happen to present as a petite, young-looking female. Fellow adults often decide that I’m 10-20 years younger than I am, a decision accompanied by myriad dismissive behaviors. That lifelong repetition has left some metaphoric scar tissue—lots of internalized assumptions and discouragements—which I discovered directing my own behavior today.

4. Limited worthiness.

Before I even arrived to the venue, I subconsciously decided that no one would be interested in hearing about me or my projects. When I tip-toed through an attempt to answer “So what do you do?” I merely cornered myself into apologizing for a huge pivot in my creative practice rather than owning it.

5. Haunted by punitive consequences.

It’s super scary to introduce myself as a multimedia artist when I’ve identified as a theater artist for more than 20 years. Besides negotiating the weight of imposter syndrome, I simply don’t know what I’m doing in any definable or categorical terms. Through humiliating negative reinforcement, I learned to avoid creative risks at a very impressionable time, on the threshold between high school and an arts conservatory (ironically) known for its edgy artistic risk-taking.

There’s more… I’ll revise and update this post as I peel through the layers.

Fortunately, two people whom I respect and trust called me out on my lackluster self-representation. They shined a genuine care for and belief in me that I’ve clearly been deflecting from myself for a host of reason(s), none of which need be fixed or permanent. So, the call to action is afoot, and I have work to do.

One step: I’m overdue for a website redesign. Bid your farewells to the content and look of this virtual space in the coming weeks!