On “Readiness”

OR That Age Old Question Every Potential Titleholder Asks

The following is the first of a series of 4… let’s call them “essays” reflecting on my past year as a titleholder, divided up into different topics. Although as a bit of a warning, to say that these topics truly exist in isolation from one another in such a way where each essay (or diatribe, whichever you prefer, really) will maintain full focus on that aspect and THAT aspect alone is a bit of an oversimplification. They aren’t topics so much as they’re multiple strands of twine, jumbled up in a heap where tugging on one will inadvertently bring a section of the heap with it. Streams of consciousness (the academic term for rambling) is to be expected, and to be braced for.

I’ll do my best to give whatever new material circumstances that have come as a result of this past year a fair shake, but do be advised, it is well within reason (in my unreasonable mind at least) that I will have blind spots, unturned stones, whatever you want to call them.

But without further ado:

“If you want to know what people really think of you? Run for a leather title, because they’ll fuckin tell you.”

I saw this post a while back about another titleholder who began an interview question response with these two sentences. It got me thinking about the year of leadup time between having an interest in potentially competing, and finally standing up on that stage. And, well, as is the case with most of my internal reflection, it’s perhaps a bit too cynical. Let me explain. 

For Mr. Twin Cities Leather I actually discussed the possibility with someone I considered a close friend and mentor the year before I would end up competing. During the time that the application was open I was merely months deep into my Leather journey, had yet to join my local club, and while I had booked my first multi-day Leather event, had yet to attend. Both he and I thought I “wasn’t ready.” But I knew eventually I would be there, I could feel it. I felt comfortable with the thought of putting myself out there in that way, being able to share my story of how I got to this point. And, funnily enough, the night of that year’s contest was when I first put pen to paper on the speech I would end up delivering over a year later, but I’m getting ahead of myself. 

As the quote suggested, I would ask around for consensus, on whether or not it was a worthy pursuit. And it ran the gamut, even among those that I felt close to. Sure there were plenty that were in my corner, thought I should go for it, even if (and I apologize once again for the cynicism) perhaps it was enthusiasm much in line with the kind you’d share with a close friend that was looking into taking an aerial silks class. A “good for you” as opposed to a “good fit,” if that makes any sense. There were others who took a much more pragmatic approach, asked harder hitting questions, which while I’m certainly appreciative of, shook me a bit (and don’t worry, we’ll get to that later, as in “in a completely different essay” later.) 

Needless to say I entered that October with my contestant slot confirmed and butterflies in my stomach, even before I knew who I’d be competing against. I’ll accept that especially at that time, and even in some ways now, I had/have a reputation to be shy, quiet, a bit of a drifter. But that night I showed something much different, I’m sure. With a speech that was over a year in the making and a standup routine that I will probably never repeat, the man that stood on that stage wasn’t the boy that had been at the bar, and at those meetings that everyone seemed to know. I’ve been told I surprised some people that night. And don’t you worry, I was surprised, too. I still am, in fact. 

Considering my days with this title are numbered, however, it’s not like that shock really means much at this point.