After wading through six years of material in the process of creating a new website, I noticed something interesting: a disconnect between how I've been spending my time and what I've been telling myself about how I've been spending my time.

Because I haven't published a new book in years, because I've been doing a lot of work behind-the-scenes on my clients' books, I've been telling myself that I haven't done enough, that I've been holding myself back, that I've been hiding.

And, on some level, this is all true.

But something else has been going on, too. I've been working quietly and patiently to become a better performer.

And it shows.

My first performances were rocky. I broke character. I rambled. I bailed on my choices too quickly.

Compare that to today. I still have off-days and rough shows. It still takes me time to process new things. I still have a lot to learn.

I still live to hear those magic words: "You're funny."

But I also know what I think is funny. I know when to sit in the silence. I know how to give gifts to my scene partners and receive them. I know when I've got the audience... really got them.

Maybe I have been holding back on putting something new and big into the world. Maybe I've put a few projects on hold because they didn't feel quite ready. Maybe I've said "yes" to some fun projects only to bail a few months later when I forced myself to look at my bank statements.

But maybe I was also waiting for my performance abilities to catch up with my writing abilities. When I signed up for my first improv class, all I wanted was to do book readings that didn't put people to sleep. But I soon realized being comfortable on stage wasn't enough; I wanted to be a great performer.

We don't notice the changes in ourselves from one day to the next. Some days when we look back, it seems as if we've been coasting--when really we've been wading through rocky waters (or whatever nature metaphor works for you).

We don't remember every turn. We don't remember that the thing we can do well today was challenging last year, just out of reach two years ago and impossible three years before that.

Of course, changes can be rapid, too. I mean, I'll probably hate this blog post tomorrow. I'll be someone else by then, someone who doesn't think there's a point in sharing what she's learned, someone who thinks that's not "cool," someone who can't see the value of anything and would rather just break shit or make fun of it.

It's cool. Today, I've got the reigns, and I'm someone who likes to make sense of things.

For some time, I wanted a website that showcased my performance work, as well as my writing. But I couldn't bring myself to look up old youtube passwords or upload things from flash drives hidden away in dusty boxes. I didn't want to watch old videos that I knew could have been better if I was the one who made them instead of her.

For six years, I was not a person who could deal with that task.

Today, however, I was that person.

This is my website.