last night i found myself at a small downtown club listening to some really fine new orleans tunes--dueling trumpets, rich and broken voices. organized, beautiful chaos.
and there was a moment when la cucaracha came spitting out of one of the horns and i had this very clear memory of how as i child my father would pull me from the shower and towel me off as he sang that ridiculous song. and i'd forgotten. and how could i forget that? and what other memories have too long sat on a shelf somewhere?
standing in the too crowded space just before the stage i turned to this lovely man who i'm just now friends with--this person who barely knows me--and i said, if this tuesday is already fat tuesday then i must think of something to give up for lent immediately.
and before the words were even out of my mouth, he looked right at me and said, how about self-doubt?
and god how that question literally took the air from my body. few times in my life have such simple and elegant and wholly true things been said. and he barely knows me. and so how did he know that?
i thought i'd gotten good at faking it, you know?
i felt so exposed in that moment. so seen and not, all at once.
how about self-doubt? divinity mostly arrives in unusual forms.