"Who's Barbie do you like the best?" The three of us sat cross-legged on the carpet with our favorite Barbie balanced on her tiptoes on our thighs.

"My favorite is Kelly's," "Linda said.

"My favorite is Linda's," Kelly said.

"My favorite is mine," I said. And I meant it.

My Barbie was the most beautiful with her white flutter skirt and tiara. There was no doubt in my mind. I could not believe they hadn't chosen mine.

In library art contests and school and backyard plays where I directed and starred, I won the prize. I felt set apart from my peers in a way that put my virtual hands on my hips. I knew I was the best until I realized I wasn't.

In the crowded classroom, aspiring thespians sat two to a chair and some on desks. It was the first tryouts for the drama department in my freshman year of high school. Mrs. Miller had me read, and I stared at the word on the page. "Adieu!"

I did not know how to read this word out loud, which doesn't make sense because I took French in junior high. Why didn't I know how to say, "goodbye?" Did I get too nervous at that moment and feel on the spot? I opened my mouth and went barreling ahead, "Ah-dee-o!" I read with my best Spanish accent.

The crowded classroom laughed, and Mrs. Miller laughed. I blushed and slid under the desk.

At least that's what I remember. It was probably much more benign than that.

I never tried out for a high school play again, even though it was my crowd for the next four years. I pulled the curtain. I ate lunch in the theatre and held my breath while Mike and Kelly climbed scaffolding and hung the lights. But I never never never tried out again.

If only I had laughed at myself, dusted myself off, and been the first in line next time. But I didn't know how to stick the landing the first time, and I believed that meant I should never put myself into a similar situation again.

Recently, my mother told me, “You lost your confidence in junior high and never got it back.” Ouch. That word, “never” stung. But was she right?

Last month, I ran down to the front of the auditorium to ask the actors my question. Four of the supporting cast from “Outlander” sat casually on the edge of the stage, willing to engage with fans who wanted to know more. All of our questions were a version of "Pull back the curtain for us." For me, I wanted to know what their secret was. How do actors handle embarrassment? When I asked, all four of them gave me their equivalent of the blank stare.

I don't think it meant professional actors don't experience embarrassment. But from their answers, I understood that pushing past shyness and timidity must happen in an actor's training. I think they work so hard on it, it is not in the forefront of their minds. Maybe their blank stares meant, “Hmmm…let me think about that.”

It's not possible to succeed in their craft and let embarrassment hold them back. While this makes logical sense, what I felt resonating with me was that they embodied what I could not. To do what they need to do, they need to be at ease with both truths. "I am going to fuck up, and I am going to kick ass."

In particular, Maria Doyle Kennedy who plays Aunt Jocasta, said that if we don't go all in and believe in what we're offering, no one else will either.

Maria Doyle Kennedy and Sam Heughan as Aunt Jocasta and Jamie

I went to the movies last weekend, something I rarely do anymore. I waited for my husband, and people watched, relieved I purchased my tickets ahead of time, so we didn’t have to stand in line. And it reminded me how some of the actors got to go to a Kansas City Chiefs game after our fan convention. They posted in their Instagram stories about the police escort they got when leaving the game. I watched those stories, and the long line I got to bypass outside the movie theater and felt gripped like I’ve been gripped over and over again my whole life. It’s a version of, “Please put me out in front. Please help me not be ordinary. I want to be the lady of the manor. Please invite me to table with the movers and shakers.”*

Here’s the problem with that. One of my business coaches taught me, “Jenny, don’t wait to get invited to the table. Invite yo-SELF to the table.”

She was right. And I spend a lot of time wondering how to do that when, for others, it seems so effortless. What if I finally get my chance and I say, “Ah-dee-o” instead of “Ah-dew?”

I don’t know the answer for me yet. There are many tables I want to sit at where I haven’t. But in the meantime, this is what I know. When I feel embarrassed, I need to laugh at myself and dust myself off. Jump up and smile instead of slide under the table. I don't know that I haven't had confidence since junior high. But I do know that being polite, kind, and safe holds me back much more often than not. Avoiding embarrassment is a terrible life plan.

I'm curious. What table would you like to join?

*By the way, who am I asking to do this for me? I believed for over 40 years that the reason I hadn’t been “invited to the table” was because I wasn’t ready according to God. He had standards I had not or could not meet. So many of my prayers over the decades were a version of asking permission for opportunities. I now realize those prayers didn’t get me anywhere because I never had to wait for a gatekeeper to let me through. I have felt so guilty that I want this. I have felt sinful because I should wish for ordinary things. This kind of theology held me back so many times, but even now, I am afraid to write what I want in case Christians read it.

The Raw JAW

Never Is a Very Long Time