I can write an hour-long show about it, but I still couldn't push the button.
My nanna gave me a nickname when I was little. It came from a nursery rhyme, and she used it the way people do when they are fond of you. It was a nickname, a unique term of endearment, and something I didn’t much like then but grew to love once I knew what it represented.
I answered to it for forty years, until she died last year. Others use it for me at times, and that’s ok. Keeps a bit of her around, which is a nice thing.
Most of us are carrying a name someone else chose, whether it’s the name we were given at birth, or an abbreviation, or a nickname. Sometimes it isn’t a name, but a role. In a family, or at work, or something we came to be known for as an addendum: “That’s Joel, the one who sweats a lot”. We might not have picked it, but we likely kept answering to it, even if we’d rather not.
Earlier this year I finished writing and started performing a show about exactly this. An hour of story, just me in front of strangers, talking about the identities we collect and the ones we might eventually shake off. It went really well… those who came to see it were generous, and I came home pleased, as well as knowing how it could improve more and where I wanted to perform the show again.
A few months later, I registered my show as part of Melbourne Fringe Festival. Found a venue, adjusted the show’s structure, and prepared some additional set and staging elements. The Fringe program launched, and I was ready to go again.
But… I didn’t tell anyone about it for a month.
Not through busyness. I had the whole plan written down, dates and a schedule, things ready to go, and no reason to sit on it. I looked at it most days, but I just didn’t push the button, and every day I didn’t, I wasn’t sure why. Just didn’t.
I know now, that what was actually happening is I was still wearing the identity I had written a show about taking apart. The one that says wait until it is perfect. The one that says don’t take up space. The one that heard, somewhere a long time ago, and from the odd person since, that wanting to be seen and understood is selfish and a bit much, so best pipe down.
Yes, I can identify what was happening pretty precisely. I can write an hour of material about it. I can share it with strangers and watch them recognise it in themselves and nod. And I still couldn’t get myself to publish a blog post about it.
This is the hard part of putting something down. We assume insight and knowing is the hard bit, and that action simply follows from there. But… it doesn’t. Knowing is a start, and that’s all.
Action requires holding the knowledge, knowing it isn’t enough just to be aware, and still lifting those heavy feet and taking the next step of doing, and the one after that, until doing is second nature.
I still don’t know whether the month was care or avoidance. Some of it was genuinely sensible. You do not want to send people to a page that is not built. But I know the difference between a reason and a cover story takes self-awareness and courage, and I don’t always have as much of that as I would like.
What helps for this one is remembering why I make these shows at all. The fun of it. The catharsis. A room of people who chose to be there. Being seen and understood by strangers who had no particular reason to bother. When I hold onto that, pushing the button reads less like taking up space and more like an invitation.
That is specific to this. It works here because the thing I stall on is also the thing I most want, and I am not sure it transfers anywhere else.
I published the post eventually. And yes, it took four weeks longer than it needed to.
Nanna’s nickname for me is on a show poster now, which keeps a bit of her around. And that’s a nice thing.
Three things to try.
1. Put the reason to the question
Write down the condition being waited on. Then ask what would actually go wrong if the thing went out today without it. A real reason survives that question with something specific attached. A cover story goes vague, or produces a second condition.
2. Find the button
Not the plan. The plan is usually finished. The single smallest action sitting there undone: the send, the message, the booking, the ask.
3. Remember what the thing is for
When something we want keeps not happening, the reason we started is usually the part that has gone quiet. Saying it back to ourselves makes the undone action feel less like taking up space.
See the show this post is about
Joely Poley, Puddin’ & Pie | 5 to 11 October, 7.45pm | The Motley WhereHaus
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