Self-promoting and putting yourself out there makes me extremely uncomfortable. In my little heart of hearts, I'm sometimes afraid that I'm just a no-talent ego-maniac who is so blinded by my own delusional ambition to be a writer that I can't see what a fool I'm making of myself. And then I alternate to not giving a damn and embracing the delusion. I mean, you can't write without an ego. So what if I'm an ego-maniac? I love me!
This is my way of rather shame-facedly admitting that I entered a contest even though it pained me to do so. They announced the winners the other night and I rather forlornly clicked the link to scan all of the names that would not be mine. I braced myself to pour a glass of wine and curse all the talentless hacks who had won while my greater talent lay unremarked and unloved in the gutter of loser writers.
Only that didn't happen.
Instead I scanned down the list and holy crap I saw my own name. Seeing it coursed through me like a lightening bolt and I recoiled from the computer screen as though physically shocked.
THIS VALIDATES EVERYTHING GOOD IN THE WORLD, I thought, modestly.
Then I texted my husband who was upstairs to tell him I was a winner.
I know. That's not normal at all. I mean, I couldn't walk up the stairs and shout at him: "OHMYGOD I WON SOMETHING! I WON! I'M A WINNER! WINNER WINNER CHICKEN DINNER!" and then I could have done a small demonstrative jig or something. I totally missed that opportunity due to technology-induced laziness.
I almost never miss the opportunity to do a victory dance or to at least flap my hands about wildly.
Later, while we were lying in bed and I was still basking in the in the glow of my disbelief and genuine humility in the face of actually winning a contest of some sort, the significance of the moment finally hit me.
"Wait a minute," I said.
"What?" my husband said.
"Do you know what this means?"
"No. What?" he lay completely still beside me and waited for my great revelation.
"This means that I am an award-winning humorist. I won an award for being funny!"
"Oh god, no..." he started but I wouldn't let him steal my moment.
"It's official! The gods have spoken! I am the funny one in this relationship. Me! Funny! Decided on by judges and panels from around the country! Award-winning funny, motherfucker! Do you hear me?" I thrust my fists up towards the ceiling in a symbol of gracious victory.
"There will never be an end to this," my husband groaned.
"No, this is a good thing. We don't have to argue any more. There is no more grand competition of who's the funniest person in this relationship. It's been settled once and for all. We can go on with our lives with the peace of mind of knowing that the answer to this most-important question has been provided to us. It's a gift from god, really. I'm the funny one. And scene...." I did an elaborate flourish with my hands and pretended to bow towards the imaginary throngs of my admirers.
"Then I get to be the best arguer in the relationship," he said, referring to some legal career accolades bullshit.
"Fine, fine. Whatever," I said and waved him off with my hilarious hand gestures.
"It means I win all arguments ever."
"Fine. You win your little arguments. I'll just be hilarious while I'm wrong. It's cool."
He sighed heavily in bed next me.
"My god, you must feel so lucky to have such a hilarious wife."
"Oh yeah. Real lucky," he said.
"Yeah," I said and smiled in the dark, then dreamed the dreams of an award-winning humorist. Which is basically just like the sleep of angels.
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To see the complete list of this year's BlogHer Voices of the Year, please click this link and read the hilarious and thought-provoking posts submitted by all of this year's winners.
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All kidding aside, I am genuinely shocked and honored to be one of the BlogHer Voices of the Year. It's really quite lovely to share this little corner of the cyber universe with all of you. Thanks for your encouragement and kind words. I really appreciate it and am humbled by the time you take to spend with me here.