Look at meeeee!

I have been performing my entire life.  Even before I knew I wanted to be an actress, I was rather desperately in need, not just of attention so much as of applause.  Sometimes it took the form of my sister and I and sometimes our younger brother putting on skits for neighbors, for our parents' friends, for each other.  But those stimulated rather than sated the desire to be noticed.

Because my family moved so often when I was growing up (one of the seminal factors in my life), I was the new kid in class about every year and a half and, because I was so afraid of being lonely and alone, I would almost immediately begin my little dog-and-pony show.  I wouldn't necessarily literally sing and dance, but I laughed loudly and often, raised my hand for every question, acted silly, gave off some razzmatazz.

There was even a period when I was pre-teen that I began to act in every moment of daily life as though a camera were following me (except when I was in the bathroom; I was very modest).  During that time, I wasn't acting the role of performer/teacher's pet/class clown; I was acting the role of a Very Good Girl.  At night I laid out my clothes for the following day, next morning would wake up cheerful and immediately make my bed.  I would do little unasked-for chores for my mother, such as organizing a messy cupboard.  I wanted praise from an invisible camera crew of documentarians who had somehow discovered that I was special, noteworthy, remarkable.

As I got older and my social life became wider and more complex, I often made an showy entrance at parties and made sure to be the center of at least one circle of attention.  When I began to pursue an acting career, of course some of my need to perform was channeled into that, but actors seldom get enough opportunities to scratch their itch so I continued to show off during every part of life.  I wanted the attention of men so they would fall in love with me, talent scouts so I could be 'discovered', potential friends so I wouldn't be lonely.  Needless to say (but I'm going to say it anyway), all this effort was rather exhausting for me, and must have been exhausting for others to be around.

I'm not sure where all this need from attention came from.  Was it exclusively because of the "new kid" experiences?  Was it in order to get the attention and approval of my dad?  Was it just an organic part of my self, in innate desire to entertain run amok?  Why was I so desperate to be seen as special and brilliant?

It took years of therapy and transformational seminars and life lessons for me to learn at last that I don't have to be the center of attention, and that my efforts are better spent at being quiet and attentive to others; that all that showiness was actually a way not to be fully engaged; that living an authentic life is much, much more important than having boatloads of friends.

I wonder if this urge to entertain and be seen is so common that it doesn't even deserve mentioning.  I wonder if everyone puts on a little show in order not to be scared.  I wonder if everyone takes as long as I have to un-learn childhood survival mechanisms.  Because I suppose that's all it was, really.  Just my way of getting through childhood intact, my way of exploring my own boundaries and my place in the world.