Last summer I went to Chicago for training with a voice coach from LA. He was hilarious, gave great insight and was worth every penny.  About midway through our session, I was going through a script, a little voiceover spot for a major retailer, and as I got ready to record, the easy, free-flowing way I spoke turned awkward and halted.  Inside my head sounded like this: Do I seem like an actor?  Am I remembering my technique?  Am I smiling on my inhale?  He stopped me, gave me some pointers and we tried again, but lo and behold, I was awkward and over-rehearsed once more.  Am I relaxing my tongue?  I'm reading copy for the role of a mom, do I sound like a mom? Do I want to sound like a mom?  Maybe if I succeed at this, I will book a big job and then I won't feel like such a phony.  As he stopped me, he said, "You have to stop trying so hard to control it, and just let it be."



I let that sink in a little, then looked right at him and said, "Mister. That right there, that's a metaphor for my entire life."

He smiled back at me, like, that's why they pay me the big bucks, and we got back to work. The session ended, I went back to sending in voice auditions with a little more insight, and while I haven't booked any big gigs, I had a moment that will stick with me forever.

Why do I feel like a phony?



Much of our existence is defined by our accomplishments; where did you go to college?, where do you work?, and relationships; wife, mother, daughter, friend.  Don't get me wrong, having a skill set and people to love, these are the things that make a life of meaning.  My mistake, and the reason I feel like a phony sometimes, is thinking my existence is earned by these things.

If this is the transactional nature of my life -- I can be this if I do these things -- of course I'll feel like a fraud.  Because once the doing is done, what then?  Will I finally have earned my space here? Or, as has been the case for the past 30 years, will still feel insecure, needing more improvement before I take myself seriously, or allow others to do the same?

What if, going forward, I radically flip the script and say: I exist, wholly, fully, without any of that stuff giving me value.  I do not have to earn my existence.  It just is.



This is a conclusion that sounds so obvious, doesn't it?  OF COURSE I EXIST --  but it really settled in for me, lately, after devoting time to a meditation practice.  (I highly recommend the books 10% Happier and Meditation for Fidgety Skeptics by Dan Harris.) Meditation gives some space between the real me and my thoughts -- especially the thoughts that tell me I have to prove myself, justify, or earn my life.  The sweetest spot of meditation is the rare moment when I can simply be aware that I exist.  Not in relation to anyone or anything else.

I. Am.



The nicest thing about internalizing this truth is that it helps take the rat-race pace away from doing the all things I have and want to do.  My life is not proving my skills as a mother or artist, my life is enjoying the experience of mothering, of creating.   This is hard to remember for more than say, five minutes at a time.  But once you learn it, it's impossible to unlearn. You just have to remember to come back to it, preferably with your eyes closed and a few deep breaths.

...or floating in a kiddie pool on a hot summer weekend, if you're Elle.

I wonder how I can teach my girls more about this, so they don't internalize this need to earn their existence. I already see it in them-- in Grace, her obedience and rule following, keeping us happy by setting the bar stratospherically high.  In Elle, going to amazing, sometimes physics-defying lengths to make us laugh.  I see this, and while there is joy in it for each of them, it's also a little transactional, and I'm afraid they will think that transaction determines their belonging here: follow rules = get praised = earned my keep for the day, or, do something insane = get a laugh = earned my place as a daughter and sister.  We always fill in the blank for our kids: He is wild, she is shy, and for ourselves, I am anxious, I am drunk again (I'm kidding).  How can I convey to them, when the blank is always filled in, that I am is simply enough?



In the book of Exodus, God refers to himself as "I am." What a beautiful reminder of our divinity, our connection the universe, our belonging here, no reason given or needed.  I am.

I just reread this and the phony alarm bells started ringing in my head -- oh my gosh I'm so LAME, this is all so OBVIOUS, people are going to think you're so HOKEY.

And that's part of the practice, isn't it?  Recognizing the voice and welcoming it, but not being too quick to believe it.

I am is enough.