To Believe or Not To Believe

Sometimes, when I'm smearing motor oil on the laundry, slicing burnt spam leftovers for a late night snack, or just generally pissing away my life that is statistically more than half over, I fantasize about getting one of my essays read on NPR's "This I Believe". I'm not sure why, exactly. It's just one of those "Wouldn't That Be Cool?" things.

Then there are the times that the fantasy becomes a potential reality and I think I should write and submit something. But what? Everyone else on that show seems to have some Chicken Crap For The Soul inspirational-type positive thing to say along with some amazing or tragic story to go along with it, while all I ever do is complain about general consumer fiascos and therefore search my non-tragic life looking for crumbs (like, ohh -! I got my first allergy shot yesterday. Woe is me. See? I got nuthin'.)

What could I possibly have to say that would make it past the slush pile? Climbing aboard the self-destruction bus, I vascillate between hope and despair.

In the back of my mind, I know I'm going to sit down and inventory my experience and produce something that "I Believe", and try with all that I have to be sincere about it (because my brain instantly goes to such things as: "I believe people suck", or "I believe my goldfish has been sneaking into the medicine cabinet while I'm at work").

So, I give myself a pep talk to "Get that ball and really fight!". I listen to a bunch of I Believe podcasts, only to be deflated when I realize that the essays are either writtten by English professors, or semi-to-fully famous people. (How am I supposed to compete with the likes of Yo Yo Ma, or an astronaut who has recorded his essay from the International Space Station? Christ!)

Still, that little cockroach of a pest over my shoulder persistently tells me to try anyway.

Even if my essay is rejected from NPR, I believe it will still find a home, whether it's in another obscure online non-paying litmag, or right here on this blog.