On a constant path towards clean and uncluttered space, every once in a while, I find myself nose-deep in journals I have written and revisit crushes from the past. My perspective often seems so dramatic when I read it years later, and is almost always FULLY LAUGHABLE. But I keep the damn journals, for some reason. To remind myself of my growth? Or to ensure everyone a good laugh at my expense once I leave this earth. Either way, what I find is often funny (even though it wasn’t meant to be when I wrote it) or painful, in a funny kinda way. Certain drunken evenings have inspired me to read aloud to my best girlfriends, which proved hilarious and even a bit cathartic, after I got over the embarrassment part.
In the same vein, Dave Nadelberg has created Mortified, “starring everyday adults sharing aloud their most embarrasing, pathetic and private teenage diary entries…” to provide “personal redemption through public humiliation.” These live performances started in L.A. and are now featured in NYC, San Fran, and Boston. And if you’re thinking of reading, you have to audition. Nearly half of those who audition are rejected. Now THAT’S mortifying.
On a side note and in the spirit of revealing oneself, I kept a particular diary when I was living in Colorado with my first love. It was a tumultuous love affair that ended with, shall we say, legal frustrations. An ugly period of lawyers and courthouses ensued, and I wrote about all of it – from the initial meeting of past love through all of the angst that led up to the split. In an attempt at concealing any incriminating evidence, I passed this diary on to an acquaintance who lived down the street, and haven’t seen it since. That was over 15 years ago. I was 19. Mortifying.