tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-108050092011-04-21T16:50:38.988-07:00crellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970157496022640659noreply@blogger.comBlogger11100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10805009.post-1108282977210248772005-02-13T00:04:00.000-08:002005-02-13T00:22:57.213-08:00I've spent my life doubting myself. It started as a hobby, and blossomed into a full blown identity. Just how and why it played out that way is a subject for another time. Suffice it to say, I'm good at it. It even got to the point where if something connected to me went well, I could legitimately doubt if it happened at all. <br />This is not a sympathy plea. Life is fine. But I always wondered: What would the world look like through the eyes of confidence? What if I could own something beautiful? I mean, own up to it, make it happen and make it mine. I might be a fully functioning, contributing member of society, but what about shooting through a room like a comet and lighting the world? Why shouldn't that be me? <br /><br />Love? Education? Friendship? . . . Bandaids. Not wastes of time. Just . . .<br /><br />Along came theater. I went out on a limb on the recommendation of some friends. And let me cut to the chase:<br />I slayed those people. I kicked ass. I held a room in the palm of my hand. I harnessed the sun. I gathered the masses and held them by the throat. I had the devil in me, and he made me total my car. It was the sum of all previous attempts at self esteem. <br /><br />In short: I have chops. <br /><br />Deal with it.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10805009-110828297721024877?l=crellycrell.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>crellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04970157496022640659noreply@blogger.com12