Who Are You Trying To Fool?

 

Let’s face it, we all have our insecurities. It’s just that some people are better at covering it up than others. And some of us wear it like an ill-fitting suit of clothes.

 You wonder if Donald Trump, for all his bluster, plastering his moniker on all kinds of national treasures and insulting anyone who dares doubt his omniscience, has his private doubts. I’d love to have surveillance gear in his gold-plated White House bathroom, to capture those personal moments before he hits the sack in his gold-plated bed. Exhausted from his regular late-night routine of posting several dozen racist and childish memes to his Truth Social account, what would he tell himself while washing the orange spray tan off his face?

        “President of the U.S.A.? Leader of the free world? You’re a joke, big guy. A chubby, blathering bozo who nobody really respects. The late-night comedians are right-on-the-money. Who are you kidding?”

        Anyone who performs for a living, be it actor, singer, dancer, ventriloquist or politician can tell you that you live with the constant fear of being exposed. I spent more than 40 years as a radio personality and I know I got up each morning and went to work, fully expecting someone to present compelling evidence that I was a fraud. My primary emotion when I retired was “whew, I got away with it.” After all, I only got into the broadcasting business because it was a way to make a paycheck without breaking a sweat or having to do any deep thinking. Mission accomplished. But to this day, I fully expect to run into someone who listened to me and takes great pleasure in sharing his/her review of my talents.

        “Man, you really sucked pond water!”

Well, yeah. But there were people silly enough to pay me well to suck pond-water. And pond-water is an acquired taste. 

        These days, my self-doubt centers on getting old. Grey hair? Memory lapses? Constipation? Who knew life would fly by so fast? And what, exactly is an aneurysm anyway?

My self-scolding these days centers on things I meant to accomplish but never got around to. Selling a novel to a major publisher. Seeing my screenplay made into a movie. Pitching in the deciding game of the World Series. Losing 20 pounds. (Oh, okay 50 pounds) and dancing with the Chippendales. After all, I wouldn’t look that bad in a Speedo.

But I can be excused for my underachieving. I had other pressing priorities. Golf. Binge watching British mysteries on Teevee. And I’m fairly certain that computer cribbage game on my phone wasn’t going to play itself.