Gig Day

Draping myself in gifts of love as I prepare to speak in LA.

It’s gig day! Being married to a performer, I learned early on what gig day meant, never thinking I’d have my own.

When I began hosting events, we christened those as gig days because I was the face. About eight years ago, I think, I started public speaking and I learned the pleasure and discomfort when swarms of butterflies take over your torso.

I no longer feel as much anxiety, but I do feel excitement. This morning a few butterflies are reminding me (as if I need it) how important it is to give it my all.

They’re fluttering because today I speak at the Los Angeles Travel and Adventure Show. Their energy feels more like anticipation this time, partly because I am literally clothed in love.

My shirt is from my friend Shelly. My earrings? My friend Kerrie. Mom gave me my pants, one of several items to celebrate my weight loss. My husband selected my med-alert bracelet because it was designed to look like jewelry (and it’s rainbow colored!) and, of course, I’m wearing my wedding ring. On my other hand, my emerald ring was a gift from my grandfather.

The necklace was my grandmother’s and oh, how I wish she could see me now. She adored reading, especially historical novels. She encouraged my love of books, defending me during family gatherings when I’d prefer to find out what happened next and my uncle would yell at me to get my nose out of a book. “Leave her alone,” she’d say, then give me another book.

Grandma loved Chicago. She grew up there and remembered passing the Century of Progress and wishing she could go. They moved away when she was a teenager, and then she met my grandfather.

They both loved travel, crisscrossing the country with their three kids in tow. When I was five they flew to Hawaii and grandma brought me a bikini. I can still picture that gold and brown floral-patterned bathing suit.

Reading. History. Chicago. Travel. Road trips.

Ya’ think maybe she had a bit of influence on me?

Grandma would have been a hundred years old last month. She passed away the summer of 2018.

I’d written my first book by then. I have the copy I’d given her. There’s a sticker with her name on it.

She loved Jim. Oh, how she loved him. I’d call and she’d say “Hi hon; how’s Jim.” I’d grin, though she couldn’t see it, and say, “I’m fine, Grandma. How are you?” She’d ask if she could adopt him, and every time he’d tell her he didn’t think his mom would like that very much.

She’d laugh. We’d laugh.

I’m on my way to the convention center with Jim and my in-laws. Jim’s seen me speak, of course, but not very often because he’s always manning the booth at the shows and doesn’t come with me to most of my other engagements. (Nor would I want him to! I speak frequently.) My in-laws haven’t seen me speak in about seven years, I think. I’ve improved quite a bit since then.

This year, I’ve chosen not to exhibit in LA and to only be on stage. I’m going through a professional transition and this is part of it. Instead of appearing as an entrepreneur with something to sell who also speaks. I’m there as an author and an entertainer.

The older I get, the more I can see not only my grandmother’s influence, but also how others who have shared their joys and their passions have impacted me in ways they may never know.

Gig day is always a little nerve-wracking. But today?

Today is a celebration.

Getting dressed this morning felt different. Intentional. Draped in gifts and witnessed by three of my favorite people, I’ll take that stage with the confidence of someone who knows she is deeply loved.

Love,

Theresa