Today Gabe is wearing a blue sweatshirt, a white t-shirt, red shorts, one green sock, one brown sock, and black shoes.
Earlier today I knew exactly what I wanted this blog post to be about. Of course, now that I am writing it, I have no idea what that was.
Never fear, though, I’ve got a topic on my mind and it’s a good one: fear.
It started last night because I couldn’t fall asleep. I don’t know why, but when Gabe dozed off around 10, I was up for 2 more hours listening to podcasts and staring at the ceiling.
One of the podcasts, a new one that I’ve been listening to a lot, is a comedy podcast in a freeform chit chat style. A comedian comes on, the host chats with them, and things generally trend in a funny direction.
On the one I happened to listen to around 11pm last night, though, in the dark, while unable to sleep, the host and her guest started talking about fear. They talked about fear of dying in a plane crash. They talked about fear of dying alone in your apartment and not being found until your neighbor noticed a smell. They talked about fear in a way that touched a nerve. The nerve that made me shoot up in bed, panting a little bit, less asleep than ever before.
It’s interesting to feel that kind of fear, since it happens so rarely, and it really surprised me.
It used to happen to me a lot more in my early twenties, but doesn’t happen that much anymore. I wasn’t even in a particularly morbid or fearful mood — I turned on the podcast because I was in the mood to laugh, in fact.
So it kind of shocked me to find myself wondering if I should wake Gabe up so I could talk to him about it around midnight.
Eventually, I managed to talk myself down and the podcast switched over to a slightly less intense topic of conversation, so all was right. But it was weird, how fear can just sort of kick in the door and make itself at home, even when you’re not expecting it or even feeling like it could be nearby…
And now on a completely different note, please accept this picture of me with a teacup chihuahua from Gabe’s grandmother’s 93rd birthday party last weekend.
While we’re talking about fear, though, another one that’s been on my mind lately — since I started doing some of the interviews with entrepreneurs and leaders and other smart people for the Popforms blog (this one isn’t me, but it is super interesting!) — is the fear of burping into the microphone in the middle of a recording session.
I’ve also been recording audio for our upcoming subscription product (which is launching this week! omg.), so I have had a lot of opportunities to burp into the microphone and so far, we are burp-free.
But let me tell you — we have not been far off. It has *almost* happened, like, 3 times.
And the trouble is, I am not an audio engineer, nor do I have any desire to learn how to use any tool more sophisticated than the dumb Skype call recorder I currently use.
Which means that if I burped in the middle of a recording session, I couldn’t just, say, edit it out after the interview. It would either stay in the interview and then be streamed thousands of times by people coming to our website for professional advice, or I would have to send the audio to my cofounder with a little note that says, “Hi I burped in the middle of this recording, and could you please edit it out since you know how to use the editing software?”.
This is my fear.
Gabe says if I stopped drinking bubbly water during recording it would probably seriously reduce the risk, but if not drinking bubbly water 8 hours a day while I work is the only cure, then I’d rather burp in the middle of every recording I do for the rest of my life.
I work from home, and my capricious preferences are the only spice my days get (unless that cat comes howling by the door, which, now that the sun is back out after weeks of rain, it has been. Oh joy.).
So that’s me. Living in fear, sometimes of dying alone and being eaten by my upstairs neighbor’s cat, and sometimes of burping into a microphone at work. I am a very complicated person, you see.