How to Suck All the Air Out of a Room

 

A few years ago, I attended an event for a friend where she was being honored by a wonderful organization.

The event had different speakers talking about my friend, and an emcee who was in charge of bringing on the different speakers and saying nice things about the person being honored in between speeches.

I ended up next to a colleague, and we could both tell the emcee was struggling. Being an emcee is often a thankless job, and if you do it as good as it's ever been done, it usually still feels like you just barely got through it. It's also not something a lot of people have a vast amount of experience with, and it happens to be something I love doing.

My colleague knew this, and at one point during the ceremony, she turned to me and said--

"Why didn't they ask you to do it?"

Before I could answer, she followed up with--

"Wait, why didn't they ask you to speak? You've known _____ for years."

I didn't know it at the time, but I had a suspicion it was because they didn't want me to do that thing where I make the evening all about me.

Later on, I spoke with my friend and congratulated her, and she confirmed without being asked that there was a reason I wasn't asked to speak.

"You know I love you, but you have a tendency of sucking all the air out of a room."

At this point, I wasn't in therapy yet, so I think my immediate reaction was utter despair at my own notorious vanity as opposed to what I think I'd feel now, which is a kind of apathetic understanding.

Yes, that's me. I soak up light like a black hole.

I've always done this. Before I even began doing theater as a child, I had the habit of needing to be the center of attention in every situation, in every room, at every moment.

Now, I guess that's not that unusual for a child, but when you're approaching forty and not much has changed, you have two options--

1. Figure out how not to do that.

or

2. Don't put yourself in a position where you can do that.

I usually opt for the latter.

And it's not easy.

By that I mean, you can make pretty much anything about you if you really want to, and normally, I really really want to.

I discovered--once again, in therapy, Dr. Emily should be getting that canonization any day now--that it has something to do with my anxiety. Narcissism also plays a part, but we don't focus on that too much, because, frankly, I don't pay her enough.

The anxiety part of it has to do with wanting to be in control.

If you're standing in the center of a room, it can be scary, but also--

You're in the power position.

The person everybody is looking at and listening to is often the person in control.

The example I always use is being a guest at a wedding.

I cannot tell you how much I hate being a guest at a wedding.

Officiating at a wedding? Love it.

In the wedding party?  Sounds like a blast.

Catering a wedding?  Chicken or Fish?

Give me a task to do, and I instantly relax.

I have a purpose.

I have a reason for being there.

And that purpose and that permission feels like control.

Now, am I any good at officiating, assisting, or catering?

Probably not, but I never used to consider that.

I just knew that the idea of going to a wedding and sitting quietly with a hundred other people would make me break into a sweat.

I mean I know I'm invited, but does anybody actually want me there? What am I going to do? Just sit and watch people give speeches and exchange vows and do a choreographed dance that'll be on YouTube later?  Kill me now.

You would think the idea of spending my entire life in theaters and performing arts spaces would make me eager to take a break and relax whenever I don't have to be on, but the problem is, the alternative to on is allllll the way off.

And once word gets out that you're the theater guy, people kind of expect you to be on.

The trouble is sometimes they want you to be on in a way where you can entertain them, but not distract from whatever is going on in the moment.

I was at a fundraiser once, shortly after appearing in a show, and someone came up to me to tell me how much they didn't like the show. They were being nice enough about it, and they didn't dislike me all that much, just the script (I wrote the script, but okay, whatever) and they were trying to have a conversation with me about it while someone was onstage talking about the charity we were all there to support.

From out of the corner of my eye, I saw a friend across the room watch me try to politely bring the discussion with this random person to a close while not causing a scene in the middle of a charity event, and he gave me that "There you go again, Kevin" look.

I guess I could have just totally stonewalled the person trying to speak with me, but I've done that in the past, and usually I always hear about it afterwards.

Finally I got used to introducing myself by saying--

Hi, I'm Kevin and I have no Middle. I can either stand here silently, which I'm perfectly content to do, or I can grab my ringmaster hat and I'll have three elephants and a clown car out here in ten minutes. Which would you like?

When you explain it that way, most people opt for Quiet Kevin, although every so often, they ask for the Ringmaster instead, and I admit I kind of like that, because it feels like they're asking me to turn into Superman right in front of them.

Jokes!

Stories!

Impersonations of Former Secretaries of Defense!

I've gotten way better at just being a spectator. And by 'gotten better at' I mean that after all these years, I am actually kind of exhausted at the thought of being on as much as I was even three or four years ago. Just give me four or five days a week where everybody's paying attention to me or only me, and I'm totally fine with giving those two other days to somebody else.

When I first started regularly auditioning for theater, I would meet other actors who said they could never get cast in the ensemble.

Not because they wouldn't take an ensemble role, but because there was something about them that either demanded to be a lead or would make them stand out too much in the background.

That was usually the pep talk after one of the many times I didn't get into a show.

What did you want them to do? Put your strange, overpowering energy in the ensemble? Are you nuts? You're a star! You belong front and center. I mean, I don't know if anyone will ever let you have a role like that, but it's really the only kind of role you can have, because you exude this strange aura--like a cross between a Muppet and one of those androids from Blade Runner.

When you look at it that way, it's a slippery slope to crippling insecurity or it's one of those things you can tell yourself you have no control over and learn to just get on with your life.

That means standing in the audience and watching somebody else have their moment without needing to be a part of it in any way, but it doesn't mean you stop envisioning yourself onstage or at the microphone or running the show.

Although I have noticed that everybody's breathing a little easier around me.

Must be all that extra air.