I should have popped the booty.

Back when I was acting, I read somewhere that if you judged a character, that character you simply could not play. And if we’re being honest, there were a lot of characters I judged; not because they embodied all the things I didn’t want to be, but because they embodied all the things I did. A lot of auditions I went on were for characters that were unapologetically themselves. Big, bold, honest. Honest in the way they walked and the style of clothes they wore. Honest about who they were and the person they’d come to be. They had all the qualities I wanted, but didn’t have, and it was that boldness I couldn’t fake. I couldn’t pretend to have it. I couldn’t sell it, so I couldn’t play it.

I listen to artists that have unconventional voices. I like rappers who sound funny. Tierra Whack in Dolly or Shower Song, Remi Wolf in Monte Carlo, Tyga in Hookah— I like them, because they are them. They’re big, bold, and honest. Their voices are raspy, their style is unique, and all they make me want to do is sing along and dance. But could I play them? Could I walk into a karaoke night and confidently sing their tune? No, no I don’t think so…

But I want to. 

So, I need to stop letting my judgement keep me from playing the character. I need to step out and take a walk in their shoes. And so, about a week ago, I did. I went line-dancing with my sister, Bri. She had been wanting to go and despite me wanting to dance more, I’ll admit, I was skeptical. Line-dancing? I judged the character — but again, not because I thought it was stupid, but because I thought it was bold. I mean, to step out onto the dance floor and grapevine, jazz square, and toe-heel-tap, can you blame me for thinking it’s daunting?

Well, it turns out, those things would be the least of my problems. Half-way into one of the dances, the line-dance instructor tells us to quote-unquote “step, step, shake the booty.”

Horror. Pure and utter horror. No, I refuse. I will not, shall not, cannot do this.

But the music plays anyway, and I’m paralyzed. All I can think about is the moment when we’re going to have to step, step, shake. And I refused, but it turned out I’d be the only one. I mean, he’d shake, she’d shake, everyone would shake-shake and there I was, an unshaken espresso.

The horror. 

And though it may not have been as clear when I said it in the beginning, I hope you’ll understand me better now as I say it again, I should have popped the booty.

Because in all reality, why not? Why? Bee, come on, where are you? Stop thinking too much, be big, be bold, be honest. 

Despite the minor setback, the night was perfect. I stepped out of my shoes and into a pair that needs breaking in, but I have no doubt come this time next year, these shoes will fit comfortably and have my imprint permanently embedded within its soles.

I felt lively, and rich. 

And as I waited for the valet to return our car, my husband decided to go on a side quest to Somi Somi, a Korean dessert shop we love to go to when we’re in the city; it was right next door to the venue which happened to be a pleasant surprise and a perfect way to end the night. 

Rich, I tell you, I felt rich.

As I was waiting, I got to indulge in the stillness of it all. The ending of my night and the beginning of others. The tipsy heads walking out and the question that always gets asked but rarely ever answered truthfully:

“Are you okay to drive, man?” 

“Yeah, man, I’m cool.”

And they disappear into the night. 

Emergency lights flashing, gears shifting, engines revving; the horn that screams, “you can go” and the other that says, “you’re going too slow!”, bad brakes, and the bell of the Bird; laughter and white noise chatter, and a taiyaki to come — a perfect, perfect, night.

And although I might not have given this character an Oscar-worthy performance, this was merely a cold read into what will soon be crowned as showtime. 

So, come curtain call, I’ll be ready.

What is something you’re trying to do? And what’s keeping you from it?

Think about it.

Cheers,
B.