If my therapist didn't dump me a few months back because she didn't like my insurance, today we would be talking about my heavy sadness at the loss of one of my comedy idols,
Greg Giraldo.
First she would remind me to not furiously Google all things related to his death (as part of my therapy my Googling was restricted to comedy related matters), I would say "Of course," and I would tell her about
this interview with him that moved me so much last year.
I would say "That is
exactly how I feel. Except for the talent. And the kids. And the success. And the Harvard. I have told you many of the same things."
She would say "Yes, I know. I have it all right here," tapping her yellow pad. She wouldn't actually, all that writing she did during our sessions was most likely "WTF??!!" and "Get me outta here!" doodles, but she would be professional enough to say that to me.
She would remind me that the soul crushing feelings of failure and dread and panic and self hatred is just the clutter of unproductive thoughts, put there by situations, events, people and stuff, held onto by me.
She would encourage me (again) to picture mean little thoughts, trying to derail me, with which I can choose, or choose not, to engage. And then she would give me a new "skill" involving visualizing a leaf floating away with the mean thoughts, or stepping out of a puddle of the antagonizing thoughts, or nodding my head and turning away from the little bastard thoughts, to help me not engage with them.
She did dump me though, so that's not what happened. After days of obsessive "following" his death, today I was downhearted, Google-abused, what's-the-point-ing and afraid to take my Xanax. Over my coffee (decaf, lest I trigger a panic attack) I remembered my little conversation with him in Montreal.
I got to perform in the
Montreal Comedy Festival this year. I was waiting in line to check into the hotel, along with a dozen other comics, whom I've admired and seen on TV, when I promptly decided "I don't belong here." I hid in my room for many many hours, wondering how the hell I had finagled my way into this, waiting to be found out to be a fraud and sent home.
I did convinced myself at some point that if nothing else, I should see the city before I get kicked out of it. I went out, sight-saw, bought a wooden kitty sitting in lotus position, ate lunch in a quiet garden, and went back to the hotel, calm and resolved to enjoy whatever time I had at the festival before the revelation. I was going to go to a ton of comedy shows, and every single one that Greg Giraldo was on.
When I got to the hotel lobby, Greg Giraldo was there talking to a couple of friends. I lurched by him, smiled a spazzy smile and headed to the elevators. "You," I said to me, "are such a fucking dumbass, why can't you just say hi??!! Why do you always have to be a crazy moron?!"
"I don't." I replied. Envisioning a black hole of regret sucking on me for the rest of my life, I punched the mean thought in the face, and walked back over to him and said "Hi Greg. I am looking forward to your show tonight."
"Oh great, thanks!" he said. He saw my badge, said my name and asked what I was doing in the festival. We chatted for a minute or two about my event, his shows, the festival, and such.
"Well, nice talking to you," I said. "I just wanted to say hi and tell you that when I found out I was coming here, I was really hoping this would happen, you are who I really wanted to see and talk to."
"Yeah Right." he said.
"Yes, really. I wanted to meet you, I think you're awesome. I admire you so much, I love what you do." I said. eek. too much. such a spaz.
"Right. Of everyone here?! Me?!? Do you know Steve Martin is here!?" he said.
"I know it's queer. I'm sorry." I crinkled back into myself and headed for the elevators.
His friend stopped me. "No it's not. It's awesome," she said. "You comedians need to stop being such assholes and say things like that to each other. It's awesome that you feel that way, and it's awesome that you told him."
"I'm blown away," he said, "Thanks so much for telling me that, Bethany. I need to hear that."
"Okay, then." I said. We had a few more sentences, this time funny, not awkward, I made him a laugh a little, he made me laugh alot. I went up to my room, reveling in how I overcame my loserness enough to talk to him. I remembered the interview and thought "Omg, he'd SO get that!" He has to fight everyday to get out of his own way for him to be where he is, and he does it. I can do it too. "Maybe one day I'll open for him and tell him what a spaz I was that day."
I won't now. But I will remember that little conversation, and how it lifted me in so many ways. I'll keep getting out of my own way everyday, putting things on leaves, and stepping out of puddles. And remembering to be grateful to be where I am, and that I get to be part of this amazing thing, full of talented, brilliant, broken, warm, passionate and hilarious people like him.
Thank you, Greg. RIP.
