I’m tired. Wait. I take that back. I’m exhausted. I’m also homesick and a little sad, and because of why I’m in Chicago, I’ve got a lot of self-doubt going on. I want go home, forget all this and crawl into my own bed.
I drove to Pittsburgh and stopped at my daughter’s house. I held my granddaughter for awhile, changed her diaper, gave her a little kiss on her fuzzy head and headed to the airport. I felt pretty confidant, considering I hadn’t flown in 10 years. I passed through security with no problem, ate a small salad, boarded my flight and, except for a little turbulence, had a smooth ride to Chicago. A driver named Lenny loaded me and my luggage into a black stretch limousine and I was off to Harpo Studios.
I was fine when I got there. Everyone was nice, I met PP&BFF (see yesterday’s blog) and I waited in a room filled with apples and bananas and granola bars. One of the production assistants said they usually keep the room stocked with bagels and cream-filled croissants, but they thought since they were producing a weight-loss show they’d offer healthier fare. I said they should do that all the time. He just laughed.
The voice-over is what has me slapping my hand against my head tonight. Before my interview, I met a few of the other people who will be on same show as me. One has lost 350 pounds and the other more than 400. How could my measly 165 pounds measure up to that kind of tenacity? My story felt insignificant and I’m afraid I brought that feeling into the audio room. During the recording I spoke in a quiet voice. That strong bold me of yesterday was out to lunch.
I had to answer carefully worded questions in full sentences. It was hard to remember how I’d answered similar questions during phone interviews. I definitely made more sense during those interviews because they were conversational. Today there was a microphone clipped to my sweater and a camera focused on me while a woman I’d never talked to before asked me questions about what I felt like emotionally and physically when I was morbidly obese. I struggled to stay focused, but I feel I crashed and burned. Thirty minutes of audio will be reduced to 40 seconds, but I walked away feeling I hadn’t conveyed my true feelings from those days and that Max and Josh the audio guys will be lucky to come up with even a few seconds of usable material. I’ll sound like an idiot on national television while photo after photo of me at my heaviest flashes across the giant screen. What the hell was I thinking when I wrote that letter in April?
Self-doubt’s a bitch.
I’m tired and so my feelings are magnified. I have to trust that tomorrow will be what tomorrow will be. Tonight, I’m in a lovely hotel in downtown Chicago. My bag is unpacked. I put on my pajamas and ate shrimp and salad, a few cashews and the little mint chocolate square on my pillow. I’ve turned off my phone and won’t check email anymore tonight. The outside world is there, all I have to do is look out my 25th-story window to see it, but for now, my mind and body need to be quiet.
Tomorrow morning I will work out, eat breakfast, and walk along the Magnificent Mile. After lunch, a car will pick me up and take me to Macy’s for some shopping Oprah style. I will remember to enjoy myself.
This isn’t how I thought I’d feel tonight. This isn’t the blog I thought I’d write. When will I learn that life is never what we anticipate it will be and to allow it to be what it is in the moment?
I’m not as sad anymore having written this and my self-doubt has eased a bit. I’m still a little homesick, though.
Good night from Chicago.