On Friday I had a call with a Senior Editor for a firm that creates websites for lawyers. On the phone, he sounded young and unhappy, impatient and tight lipped. I understand why he’s not happy to speak with me. I was hired to rewrite the content that his team wrote for my client, who is very unhappy with the content they produced. Having an outsider like me write the content was “very unusual to our standard process,” he said.

I’m not a lawyer, but I know how to write. Their original content was horrible. I tried to show Mr. Senior Editor a few examples of the inconsistencies, changes in tone, illogical sentences… and he said nothing. Perhaps he was nodding as he was texting on his iPhone. Maybe he was rolling his eyes. When he did talk, he mentioned over and over the ramifications and consequences of bringing me in and how it was going to mess up the SEO that was so important.

I had two sets of voices talking in my head about our conversation:

1. The confident voice said, “Buddy — I know enough about SEO to ensure it’s still there, and your writing is crap no matter what you’re trying to optimize.”
2. The smaller voice said, “Do I really know what I’m doing enough? Is he right?”

When we ended the call, it was my job to write a summary of our next steps to my client with a CC to Mr. Senior Editor.  I dashed off the plan and hit send.

As it was leaving my computer, I noticed my signature:

Avenue Z Writing Solutions

…copywriting solutions for organizations with something to say

bziesenis@avenuez.net

619 231 9225

The serious side: www.avenuez.net

What’s behind the curtain: www.lifeonavenuez.com

I thought of tight-lipped Mr. Senior Editor getting my email and clicking through to my blog through “What’s behind the curtain.” And then I thought of him clicking around my blog, learning about the things I do wrong, the insecurities I share, the “oh gosh” amazement I have that I’m able to live this life. I thought of his lip perhaps moving into a sneer as he had the opportunity to judge. Perhaps he caught a typo or he really hated my writing style. Perhaps he just enjoyed how ridiculous I look when I put myself out there.

Hell. I don’t even know if he clicked on the link. He may have actually enjoyed his visit here. He may think I’m a cool chick, or he may not care in the slightest. But when I clicked the link in my own signature and tried to see this blog through his eyes, I saw a very exposed, very real human being. And I again felt small.

This is the long way to get to the point of this post: Though I frequently feel very vulnerable for not putting up a brave front, I prefer being a real human being. I’m glad I don’t sit in an office and leave my smiles and winces at home. I’m not afraid to show my soft underbelly.

The other day I discovered another real human being, and I want to share him. He’s Matt Harding, and he traveled around the world dancing in dozens of cities with hundreds of strangers. Here’s his blog, where he talks about how tired he gets of people thinking he did the dancing on a green screen or how tough it was to read that someone called him “doughy.” That’s real. Here’s a post on a marketing website about Stride Gum’s sponsorship of Matt’s dancing trips and how their low-profile advertising technique kept the project even more real.

And, more importantly, here’s the video, which makes me tear up each time I watch it. I admire Matt for being real, and I strive to be as real as he is.

Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.