When I was growing up, my Aunt Terry urged me to do things I wasn’t sure I could do: Wear the flamboyant outfit I fell in love with at our favorite thrift shop, read my writing in front of a room full of people, leave our working-class enclave to go to college.
I love this snapshot of me and Aunt Terry performing onstage at a community talent show when I was 12. You can see in my face how uncomfortable I am, but I did it anyway. Because my aunt wanted me to play tambourine for her as she sang “House of the Rising Sun,” and also because I was curious about how it felt to command the attention of others, as she always did. The entire world was my aunt’s stage.
I wasn’t born to be a star like Aunt Terry. I’m OK with being a socially anxious introvert, as long as I don’t let my trepidation hold me back from doing the things I really want to do. Although my aunt isn’t here with me anymore, I feel her presence every time I push myself to step into the spotlight of my own life.