I dare me

I know, I know: the world needs another reporter on her inner life like it needs another hole in the head.

But still: I keep daring myself to do wacky things, like develop an online presence, fly to England and interview Gomez, write books, and someday I'll write a movie and get up on a stage with some musicians, too. And what, exactly, are these ultimatums (ultimati? ultimata?) to myself? Do this or you'll be forever wimpy? If I think of that as the worst that could happen, it's always more compelling to take the dare and do the new thing. Always.

And now I can see that even though I haven't converted my Gomez experience into a Rolling Stone piece (yet), that experience served a panoply of purposes for me. I suppose one could say all this is a rationalization of an impulsive thing I up and did. Yet I found it sufficiently life-changing to learn that a) I could set up an interview with people just because I wanted to and b) the people I picked to sit down with had thoughtful things to say about working really hard at their collective career, information I found useful. Later, that experience nudged me beyond my pure fandom and toward action, if not exactly the action I was expecting when I wrote their then-manager an email saying I'd be in the area anyway (that second trip to London with my mother was one of the best trips ever).

If you dare me, I will try again to publish that piece on being a Gomez fan (because it really wasn't just about them; it was about me, too), but right now I have to get back to work on the book. And think up a new dare for myself.

Incidentally, all of this daring feels like good practice for something, even if I'm not sure what it is: I think of the Beatles and Gomez and Diablo (can't help it -- I'm a little preoccupied) and all the kids who have been willing to get up in front of the other ones and just scream it out, the ones who have dared to do what the others aren't willing to do themselves. Isn't that what writing stories and music and performing are all about?

Soundtrack: Spoon: My Little Japanese Cigarette Case