The Moth - The Moth Radio Hour: Surviving Being Human

Episode Date: July 19, 2022

In this hour, we lean into the moments of rejection, failure, embarrassment, and other stories of the human soul. Hosted by The Moth’s Senior Director, Meg Bowles. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by The Moth and Jay Allison of Atlantic Public Media. Hosted by: Meg Bowles Storytellers: Cynthia Shelby Lane sets her sights on a job that’s out of this world. Lemn Sissay attempts to uncover a hidden past. Natasha Guynes desperately tries to hide her past from co-workers on The Hill. Matt Brown confronts his insecurities in an unconventional way Daniel Turpin deals with the aftermath of a split second decision.

Attention Houston! You have listened to our podcast and our radio hour, but did you know the Moth has live storytelling events at Wearhouse Live? The Moth has opened Mike's storytelling competitions called Story Slams that are open to anyone with a five-minute story to share on the night's theme. Upcoming themes include love hurts, stakes, clean, and pride. GoodLamoth.org forward slash Houston to experience a live show near you. That's theMoth Radio Hour. I'm Meg Boles. Over the years, some of the best stories we've heard here at the Moth have been the ones

where people are willing to tell on themselves, to reveal the not-so-pretty sides of themselves. Sometimes the more interesting story is the one about the near-miss and the absolute and utter failure, because these imperfect moments are a constant in our lives and surviving them is what makes us human, what builds character and humility and hopefully empathy. Today we bring you stories that celebrate those very things, the embarrassment, the rejection, the wrong turn, and sometimes the sheer fragility of a human soul. Our first story comes from Cynthia Shelby Lane. She told it at one of our monthly story slam events in Detroit, Michigan, where we partner with local public radio station WDET.

Here's Cynthia Shelby Lane, live at the Moth. So I decided to apply for a job, and it wasn't just any job, but the deadline for the application was December 31st at midnight. So I went home and I thought about it and with all the self-doubt, I just put it off and tours me months went by and then I decided on December 31st to fill out the application. I finished it around 11.30 pm and I looked up and had one half hour to get it to the post office. So that's when I got in my car and drove all the way downtown Detroit to the US Post Office on Fort Street. You may know that place. I used to stay up in 24 hours. I got in a line. I'm looking at my watch. I'm like, oh my god, I'm never going to make it. I'm never going

to make it. And then I get to the front of the line, the poster clerk stamps it, 1159, December 31st. And then I realize what I had done. I had applied to NASA to be a United States astronaut. But then I went back to my car and self-doubt started creeping in again. What did I do? What have I done? A U.S. astronaut? That's the girl white boys club, jet pilots.

There are no black female astronauts at all. You'll be the first. And number two, there's only handful of women. Okay, so forget it. You know what? I'm just going to go back to work. I'm a doctor anyway. I just be a doctor.? I'm just going to go back to work. I'm a doctor anyway. I'm just be a doctor.

So I went home and I went back to work and I kept working and then the anxiety creeped in. I kept getting hot and sweaty. Are they going to call? Are they not going to call? I just forgot about it. And then my staff said, Dr. Lane, NASA is on the line. I'm like, really?

So I said, hello. He said, yes, Dr. Lane, congratulations. You've been selected to be a candidate for the US Space Program, a mission specialist. You're going to come down to NASA, Johnson Space Center, will arrange your trip. It'll be a week-long interview. Okay. Did I thought again, self-taught? You know what, I can't go on working that week. I can't get off. Did I call my boss and he said, okay, fast forward. I arrive at Houston, Indochina, Dill Airport.

I get to Johnson, Redgarg, the Johnson Space Center, getting to one of those little bunks. You know, it's kind of a government issue, bunk at Johnson Space Center. It was hot and sweaty on the Sunday afternoon in Houston, Texas. I'm ready to settle in to get ready for this week going. Interview, they call me up.

There's a little piece of paper on the bed. Actually, they said, no, you're going to come to a debriefing right now. That's what they call it debriefing. I get to the debriefing and there's other US astronauts and there are other candidates, my 20 competitors. Now, it's me against me and me against them. They give us homework. Yeah, homework. I've already filled out the application, took time off

from work. Here it is. You have one night to go back and rest, and in the morning we want to know a fifth grade essay, why you want to be an astronaut. Okay, fine. I don't sleep all night. I get up the next morning. I get there. They give me an orange jug for 24 hour urine and I give them that paperwork. Okay. Then they take you into a room with psychiatrists, six hour psychiatric evaluation. They're grilling your brain.

Are you a team player? Do you like to work in an environment that's more serious or more humorous? What do you think your chances are getting being an astronaut, Dr. Lane? 100%, 99%, I don't know, 90%, what, I don't know, self-doubt. So then they send you off for a colonoscopy. They look a hot butt thing up your butt.

They dilate your pupils and you walk around in the hot sun. Then they put you in this ball. They put you in a ball because what's the ball for? You zip yourself in, you're in there about 30 minutes with yourself just twiddling around, you zip the inside, they zip the outside, you're a victim now,

and they wanna see if in fact, the space shuttle blows up and you reject it into the Indian Ocean, you can survive! Well, I survived the heat for 30 minutes, I'm like, no, no big deal. So then the next day, we go to the space shuttle simulator. Ha, who's there? CBS News, Walter Cronkite.

I'm a national news. My heaters don't work. So I have a ponytail. My father says, I saw you on the news. You look stupid. You have a ponytail. You're not my daughter. And then the final test, the treadmill test, they hook you up

because you've got to have the right stuff to be an astronaut in America. They hook you up. The EKG things are all on you. The oxygen is in your mouth. And they take it. They say, we're going to put it in client. We're going to make you go faster.

Inclined, we go faster. When you think you're 60 seconds out, Jews give us the thumbs up, Dr. Lein, because we're going to take you down. So we're going faster. And we're going up. And I said, I've been practicing at home. I know Jews give us the thumbs up, Dr. Nain, because we're gonna take you down. So we're going faster and we're going up. And I said, I've been practicing at home. I know I can run this. Oh shit.

All right, all right. Okay, my heart rate, I can see it is 220. My blood purchase up to 100. Hey, the over 100. Oh no, he thumps up. I don't have 60 seconds. No, no, no, I can't stay on here another 10 seconds. But suddenly they take it down.

They take it down 12 men come and take me off the Trent Milters for a US astronaut. The next day, still ask supper, that's moving me the head of NASA. If you get a call from the head of NASA, you made it, if you didn't make the cut, it's somebody else. I go back home, I'm sitting there another two months, the FBI, CIS come around, they try to figure out

who I really am, then I get that call from NASA. Dr. Lane, I said, is this the man? This is the head? I don't know. Remember his voice. Who is this? This is NASA. I'm sorry, doctor.

You didn't make the cut. I said, oh. But I can tell you this. Never sabotage yourself. Never have self. That would be 100% clear. Because I was willing to go and sit on 750,000 tons of TNT and blast my ass off into outer space.

Cynthia Shelby Lane is a doctor, humanitarian speaker and comedian. As a physician, she's committed to a healthier world. She believes that laughter is good medicine. You can see pictures and find out more about Dr. Shelby Lane by visiting our website, themoth.org. Our next storyteller, Lim Sisei, is a celebrated and beloved poet and novelist and chancellor of the University of Manchester in England. He was born to an Ethiopian mother in Wigan, a town in Greater Manchester. Lim's mother went to study in Great Britain and after finding herself pregnant, she was

placed in a mother in baby unit. At two months of age, Lim was placed into the care of social services. His mother was asked to sign papers allowing Lim to be placed for adoption, but she refused. Hoping she would be reunited with her son when she was better able to manage. Instead, after spending 18 years in the care of social services, Lim was finally released without a penny to his name and no record of his personal history, except for a birth certificate and a letter from his mother. Lim shared his story at an evening we produced at the Union Chapel in London.

Here's Lim C.C. Live at the Mall. The first thing that I was given when I left the organization, the social services, was o'r gweithio i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r sgwyr i'r I wanted to see the proof of my existence. I wanted to see me. All family is a group of people proven that each other exists over a lifetime. All family is a group of, all family is a group of disputed memories Mae'n gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r

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I couldn't be in a safer place. Some critics have called it theater as therapy, theater as protest, and even theater as survival. Coming up, a story of one woman's desperate attempt to hide her past when the Moth Radio Hour continues. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by PRX. This is the Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Meg Bulls.

Our next story comes from Natasha Guines. I just want to give a little word of caution that Natasha's story deals with some adult situations and may not be appropriate for all listeners. She shared her story at a main stage event we produced in Baltimore, Maryland. The theme of the night was, I of the Storm. Here's Natasha Guines, live at the mall. My dad and his wife would lock us out of the house for hours. And while they were inside getting high, my sister and I used to run around the yard, and I would tell my friends that when I grew up, I was going to move to the East Coast, go to Harvard, and be president of the United States.

I find this childhood ambition kind of cute and funny now, given that no one in my family had yet graduated from college. And the most I knew politics at the time was David Duke, being from Louisiana and all. But this dream would become my escape plan. So shortly after my 20th birthday, I packed everything I could into a single suitcase,

and I maxed out my one credit card on a one-way plane ticket to Washington, DC. In my mind, I had this all figured out. I was commuted to DC, go to college, and work for now, the National Organization for Women. But as soon as I stepped foot off that plane, my reality became very different. I realized I was naive and completely unprepared because I hadn't found a place to live and I hadn't gotten into any colleges because I had applied and I didn't have a job at now or anywhere else. I just had this dream. I managed to find a place to live in a group house in the outskirts of Capitol Hill, not particularly safe place for a young woman at the time. I

worked him job so I was always dead broke and I struggled to pay my rent. group house in the outskirts of Capitol Hill, not particularly safe place for a young woman at the time. I worked Tim Jobs, I was always dead broke and I struggled to pay my rent. One night I was over at my neighbor Alice's complaining to her about my life and how much it sucked and how I had no money and how I couldn't pay my bills. Now on hindsight, Alice was not the best person to be giving me advice. She drank Bloody Mary's her breakfast and she cried throughout her day. But I remember what she said to me and that was she said, if I were young and cute like you, I would be an escort. She made it sound easy and like I'd go to some nice places, make some fast cash,

how hard could it be? And the next thing I remember, Alice and I are go to some nice places, make some fast cash, how hard could it be. And the next thing I remember, Alice and I are sitting on the floor of her bedroom flipping through the escort ads in the back of the phone book. I dial Pamela Martin Associates and a woman named Julia answered. But I know now, Julia was Debra Jean Poffrey and Debra Jean Poffrey, was it her call at the DC Madam. She explained her rules. Had to be 24, with some college experience,

and going to test run with one of her regulars. But before getting started, she required a photograph and a picture ID. It was about this time I explained to her that I was only 20 years old, but she said I sounded mature enough. So I sent her my photograph and an ID. She mailed me an entire book of guidelines. She's dressed the importance of good hygiene and always having shaped legs, always dressing professionally and always using a fake name. I picked Lily.

And for five months, I worked as an escort for the DC Madam. It was only five months, but this time my life felt like an eternity. Some nights I'd be lying next to my third John of the evening, my skin would crawl, my heart would ache. I'd end each night by numbing myself with whiskey and drugs. And over time I began to feel broken, like I couldn't be touched, I couldn't be looked at, I definitely couldn't show up for work.

And I remember I called Julia to tell her I was quitting. And I remember as I stood in the middle of my studio apartment, staring at the dresser, shoved into my closet as I told her, I have to quit, I just do. Oh, I could tell if she was super annoyed with me by the tone in her voice as she reminded me that the couple hundred dollars I had rolled up at my sock drawer wasn't going to last me long.

And as I stood there staring at the dresser, shoved into the closet, I kept thinking, how does she know because of course she was right. I quit working for Julia but I kept drinking. Then when I'd after a lot of vodka, whiskey, and pills, I landed in DC General Hospital for seven days at the NIVMI arm. After this, I realized if I didn't change my life, I was going DC General Hospital for seven days the night via my arm. After this I realized if I didn't change my life I was going to be dead by the time I was 22 and I attended my first Hall of Staff Recovery meeting. These meetings weren't easy for me. I remember I'd go to my pajamas but I keep going. I got my

first sober job as a checker at Safeway and slowly with the help of a lot of people who are once in my position. I managed to graduate college and then go into serve in AmeriCorps. But I don't want to suggest that for even a moment that this was a clean upper trajectory. One time my money was tied and bills were piling up again. I thought about going back to the DC man for fast cash. I'd even called and set up another appointment. But in the end I decided that I didn't have the option of going back to the DC Madam for Fast Cash. I'd even called and said another appointment. But in the end, I decided that I didn't have the option

of going back where I had to continue moving forward. In early 2008, a year after I'm finally done with college and I'm finished serving in AmeriCorps, a friend of mine recommended me to a director on Capitol Hill by the name of David. David was looking to hire someone to answer phones in the office, a Senate majority leader, Harry Reid. And I remember seeing an incident in a

reads front office in my black suit and pearls desperately trying not to fidget. I was so nervous and I knew landing this role would literally be a dream come true. A few minutes later I'm sitting across from David and he's doing the normal interview and I guess I did a good job later, I'm sitting across from David and he's doing the normal interview and I guess I did a good job because in the end he offered me a position, staff assistant. The salary was $28,000 and I took it.

I literally lit up like a light bulb inside, I could barely contain my energy. I knew it this meant. This meant my life was on track, this meant I was progressing and most importantly, this meant no one knew anything about my past. One day, I was working in the read office,

and I don't know what possessed me to do it, but I decided I would Google myself, and I was shocked. It was a few years earlier that the DC Madam had been arrested, and her phone records were now all in line. And there I was, on the second page of results, my first name, last name, and old phone number. That was it, quite simple and lacking details. My heart dropped into my stomach and I ran up to the eighth floor of the heart's Senate Billion. I started pacing back

and forth calling anyone who I thought could help me cover this up. And while I was pacing, I kept thinking how can something I did for five months when I was 20 years old still be haunting me? And more importantly, was it going to be there for the rest of my life? I became pretty consumed with this list. I started Google myself quite frequently, though I wouldn't click the link because I didn't want to move up in the Google search.

I didn't want to move up in the Google search. I didn't want to move up in the Google search. I didn't want to move up in the Google search. Every time I was called into a meeting, I expected the other shoot to drop. It'd be, I expected the other shoot to drop. It'd be so easy for the other shoot to drop. It'd be so easy for someone to call me out on this. And I'd spent the last six years in my life working my way

from staff assistant to director of operations and a friend calls. And said he just finished having lunch with an old colleague who was asking about a phone list. I tried to play dumb and I quickly got off that call and I called the old colleague and I was pissed. I was like, how dare you be talking about this? You have no idea. How do you know it's not a misprint, the wrong number, anything.

You're spreading rumors. And as I accused him of this, I asked him, have you shared about this list with anyone else? Specifically, David. David who I didn't work for anymore, but I still respected very much. And he said, yes. I hung up that phone.

I sprinted across three, and it billied to the heart building until I got to David's office, and I shut the door, and I said, I hear you know about the list. He said, what list? I said, you know, the list. But the look on his face said, don't ask, don't tell. And feeling relieved, that wasn't going to have to give an explanation. I said, OK, the list. But the little girl's face said, don't ask, don't tell. And feeling relieved that wasn't gonna have to give an explanation. I said, okay, never mind.

I started to leave. But I started to make my exit, David asked. Well, since you brought it up, how did you name it up on that list? I started to cry as I told him I cleaned up version of the truth. I basically lied. It's all I had to offer at the time. Not long after that conversation with David, I left the hill.

I felt like a failure. My dreams were falling apart, like a quit hang. A couple years later, a couple of jobs later, I landed at a law firm as a chief of staff, and I feel like again, my life is progressing, everything's on track. I'm making good money. What more could I want? into the law firm as a chief of staff and I feel like again my life is progressing everything's on track. I'm making good money, what more can I want and I had this nagging feeling that I wanted to be doing something more.

And I got this idea, maybe I could stop running and stop hiding and start using my experiences to help other women. But first I knew I needed buy-in. So I started going back to the same colleagues I had spent so many years trying to hide my secret from to tell them about my story. My idea to form an organization that supports vulnerable young women. I remember sitting at the Fire Hook Bakery on Connecticut Avenue talking to a former Reed colleague and friend Rodel about

my idea to form this organization and about my story. And the look on his face that he had no idea this was my past. And as I connected the dots between my story and the organization, he offered and vowed to help me do anything he could to help me make it a success. But cautioned me. That once this secret was out, there was no way I could put it back in. And then I wasn't 100% confident in my decision yet. I said I know.

Because I kept thinking, it was more important for me to start sharing about these experiences to help other women prevent them from going down the same path than to keep them inside. Since that conversation with Rodel, and in the last 15 months, her resiliency center has opened its doors and has served more than 70 young women, each with individual circumstances, to help them get on the path to a thriving future. Roll call. Roll call, a Capitol Hill newspaper recently did a front page feature about me.

I would have gone with a different title than Sex Worker or the Hill staffer. But it worked. It got people all over DC to read about my story and the work we do at my organization. I worked in a place where I felt like the only way I could look successful is to look as if my life were perfect. And each day I'd show up in my best suit and smile and I would pretend. I know now that's spent way too much time running for my past, hoping that no one would find the truth and use it against me.

It was a lot of work and a heavy burden to carry those secrets all these years, and some much more empowering to be able to own them. Thank you. Applause. Natasha Blinds is the founder and president of the Her Resiliency Center, an organization in Washington, D.C. that supports vulnerable young women. In the first year alone, they've served over 120 women, giving them one-on-one support.

I asked Natasha if there was anything else she wanted me to mention, and she wrote, one person told me that my life could be different, and then helped me find what that looked like, and that one person helped change the trajectory of my life. By the way, Natasha came to us through our pitch line. You can do the same thing. If you go to our website, themoth.org and look for Tell a Story. It'll give you all the info for how to call us or even record a two minute pitch of your story right there on the website. We have a team of people including me and we listen to every story that comes in and we

love to hear yours. Hi, my name is Gary Weinstein. I live in Greenwich, Connecticut. My wife and I have three daughters, our middle daughter Kate, has Asperger syndrome. She has difficulty with social interactions and impulsivity. And I have been determined to get her a driver's license. A big challenge for some of the problems that she has. We gave her a lot of teaching, many, many extra hours, and signed her up for her road test.

Before the road test, I said to her, Kate, it is imperative that you act normal. The instructor is going to see you for a very short amount of time, and I don't want them to prejudge you. And she said to me, Dad, stop yelling at me. Look at the dog cowering in the side of the room. I can take it, but the dog can't. The appointed day came and we waited for her to be called.

They called her name. She jumped up from her seat and immediately laid down on the floor. I said, quick, get up. The instructor's coming over. What are you doing? She said, oh, my back hurts. And the doctor said to lie down when my back hurts.

I said, get up now. You got hacked normal. She leaves 20 minutes, comes back with a big smile my back hurts. I said, get up now! You got hacked normal! She leaves, 20 minutes comes back with a big smile on her face. I asked what happened. She said, wait, the instructor will tell you. The instructor said, Kate did great, she passed. So I grabbed her in the middle of the motor vehicle bureau and I held her in a waltz-like position and I danced up and down the whole length of the motor vehicle bureau with

tears in my eyes saying, Kate, you did it, you did it. The whole time she looked at me and said, Dad, Dad, not normal, not normal. Dancing in the middle of motor vehicle, not normal, must stop. Remember, if you have a story you'd like to share, you can pitch us at themoth.org. Coming up, a story of trying to overcome embarrassment by doing the unthinkable. That's when the Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by the Public Radio Exchange, PRX.org.

This is the Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Meg Bulls. Our next storyteller, Matt Brown, is a musician, writer, surfer, and a single father. But before all that, he tried his hand at something a little different. He told his story at the Portland Grand Slam, which is locally supported by Oregon Public Broadcasting.

Here's Matt Brown, live at the Moth. Growing up, I had a really hard time with embarrassment. I'd get embarrassed really easy. And if I felt uncomfortable in a situation fear would take over and turn it into this like really acute chagrin. If a teacher called on me in class or if I was talking to a pretty girl,

if I was in public with my mom, I mean, forget about it. It was just like, my face would just go crazy bright red and my ears would get all hot crimson and I would sweat. It was the worst kind of like hot, Mr. Potato Head feeling. I'm sure you've seen it before, you know, and it's just like I could be having a normal conversation

with someone and then boom, red, sweat. And it would make the other person feel super uncomfortable. And they'd look at you like, ooh, damn. What just happened, you know? And I got to college, it actually got worse. I was way out of my comfort zone. And the problem actually ramped up a little bit. And I started having panicky, attacky kind of feeling.

So I wanted to meet people. I wanted to have a normal life. I wanted to meet girls. I wanted to live out loud. I had this thing. I felt like I needed to play in a band and the idea of being on stage with this red face the whole time was not punk rock. You know. So I was just like, I figured I needed to do something about it. So I put my young mind to the task of trying to solve this problem. And the bright idea I came up with was that I should get a job, some kind of challenging mind bending part-time job. You know, it was going to be the thing.

It was going to take me completely out of my element. And it was going to take fear past its poll and extrapolate this negativity towards confidence and happiness. And it was a tall order. Nonetheless, I got up every morning and over coffee, I flipped through the paper and looked through the wann ads, and it was full of the same old stuff, you know, office jobs and restaurants and hotels and construction, and nothing sounded scary enough, but towards the end of the

last week, the first week of looking, I found it. And it was right there on the page, and all of its awful disgusting glory, it made me cringe. And I looked at it, and my fear compass, it hit an all-time high, and all that took was a few words in bold, black print, clowns needed. No experience necessary. So I run to the phone before I can change my mind and I'm like, this is Matt Brown, I'm calling about the job and I hear this nice lady on the phone say, someone's called about the job. She comes back and she says, we accept, if

you can come in today then we could train you and we have a few jobs for you this weekend. So it's Thursday, so I beat it down to the office, and I spend the rest of the day at party animals, headquarters, learning about clowning and makeup, and balloon animals, and magic, and juggling. A couple of things I had to learn on my own, like, how to not get punched in your clown nuts all day by a bunch of 11-year-olds. But the standard gig was like a 45-minute birthday party

for a kid, and you would go, you know, and I accepted two of these for the following weekend. And I went home with this sack of clothes and toys and games, and what I hadn't anticipated was the reaction of my roommates. And they thought I'd done some dumb shit before, but this one, I guess, kind of went over the line, and they were convinced'd done some dumb shit before but this one I guess kind of went over the line and they were convinced that I was just an idiot. I did my best to ignore them and Saturday rolled around. It was the first gig and I got up bright and early and I was in the bathroom when I was putting on my makeup and I was realizing that this is much harder than I

thought it was going to be. I don't have a steady hand or much of an attention for detail and I don't have a steady hand or much of an attention for detail. And my first try, I get death metal clown. And I erase that and I go second try and I get murder clown. And the third try softens up enough for my standards. And I'm cool with it and I'm looking in the mirror and I'm saying to myself, what the hell are you doing? You don't even like clowns. Yeah? And then my roommate's wake up and it's on.

You know, they're laughing and it's so, I'm a freaking clown. And oh, here we go. So I get the hell out of there. I got my gear, I got to my car, I start up my car, and that's when the fear sets in of how scary this is really going to be. And, woo, I crank up the radio just to drown out my thoughts. And I'm like, I'll rock out, I'll drive for a little while.

I'll just, I'll head towards this party and I'll decide how I feel about this. And I'm driving along and I'm doing that thing, where I'm like, man, you don't have to do anything. You don't wanna do. You know, like, you can quit this right now. And I get to this stoplight about a mile from my house and this heavy blanket of dark fear

just drops down around my whole body and I'm frozen and I'm like, I can't do this. There's no way. This is over. I'm not gonna get out of my problem this way. I don't get to win this time. I'm gonna have to quit. So I turn the music down.

I'm sitting there looking all melancholy jean simmons, and I hear this racket and this noise and it's screaming. And I'm looking on both sides of me. They're these giant family cars and they're full of kids. And the kids are hanging out the windows and they've got their arms out. And they're yelling, clown, clown, hello clown. And I roll down my front window as man, and I just, I reach out as far as I can in both

directions at these kids, and I'm like, I can do this. Matt Brown never clowned again. The closest he's come is dressing up as Santa Claus for a friend's family Christmas party. He said putting himself in that situation as a young dude, his words, was like standing on a ledge of individuality and fear. He appreciated how much freedom clowning afforded him. It forced him to conquer his shyness. And he added, there is no way to be cool

when you're dressing up as a clown. I first met our next storyteller after he called the moth pitch line and left a two minute pitch. Actually, I think it was less than two minutes, but when I heard it, I was instantly moved by his candor and his honesty. We worked together on his story and he told it live on stage in his hometown of New Bedford, Massachusetts, where we're

supported by local Public Radio Station WCAI. Here's Daniel Turpin live at the Ziterian Theatre. So it was Friday and I just come home from the hospital with my mother. She'd had spinal fusion surgery. It's the kind where they weld some of your vertebra together. Yet, you see, my mother, she worked so hard she actually wore herself out. She's an amazing woman. She grew up between British boarding schools and these remote islands in the Pacific Ocean. And she sailed around the world with

her father when she was 21. And for the last 30 years she's successfully built this small company that's provided for the two of us. So when we found out she was going to have the surgery, I was happy that I could help. I'd be able to schedule the employees, I'd be able to handle the payroll and the cash and deal with the clients. And so on that day, we got her home, we got her in bed, got her comfortable, and she'd fallen asleep. And I was, of course, late to the office. I was rushing around the house, trying to get ready, and I happened to look outside, and I noticed that there was someone coming to the house.

And I had this thought, I just, I desperately didn't want them to knock because my mother had just fallen asleep and she really needed her rest. So I raised down the hallway and of course it's the loudest knock I've ever heard in my life. Someone wailing away at the door and as I reach for it, it opens, which is strange. And I see this arm slide through the doorway and it's holding a handgun. And my first reaction is to try to slam the door closed,

but I slip on the linoleum floor. And he puts the gun to my head and he says, stay down, don't move. And I freeze. The gun immobilizes me. I can't keep thoughts in my head. And then he says, where's the money? Where's the money?

He knows who we are. It's Friday. It's payday. And things are moving so fast. I tell them the money is on the table. And I think to myself that if he gets what he wants, then maybe he'll just leave. And so he grabs me by the back of the shirt, he pulls me over to the table, and I can see his arm reach past me and take the money.

And now I'm thinking, you'll leave. But instead, he tells me the back of my head. And it dawns on me that I've made a mistake. I'm going to die. He doesn't want a witness. And so far, I've done nothing. I've done nothing to save my life. And as this thought is running through my head,

a familiar voice interrupts. And I hear my mother say, excuse me, and she's come round the corner and she's crashed into this guy. He has his back towards her, so she can't see that he has a gun. And he turns and throws her into the wall and I'm horrified.

I'm thinking about her surgery. And as I go over to her, he runs out the door. And as I'm helping her up, I'm then realizing that I'm restraining her from running after him. And I say, mom, he has a gun and you just had surgery. You need to stay here. I grab the phone and I dial 911.

And I go to the doorway and I have this surreal moment where I'm watching this man run across my yard. This man that threatened my life and hurt my mother. And I think I can catch him. I'm faster than he is. But I know he has a gun. So I tell the police, I describe what he looks like, what he's wearing, and describe the car he gets into hidden behind the trees.

But as I watch him drive away, I make another decision. I go after him. And I jump in my truck and I tear out of my driveway and I'm still talking to the police. But then the phone goes dead because it's the landline. So I'm going a hundred miles an hour down Route 88, passing cars, and I realize I'm alone. I don't have a phone, I don't have a weapon. I just have my anger. It turns out I meet the police first. And they explained to me that when I called, it was during a shift change.

So instead of four cruisers on the road, there were eight. And they already had them in custody. I'd find out later that there were two other people in the car that used to work for my mother years ago. I'd also find out that my mother would have to have another surgery, but she'd be okay. But later that night, after I'd had dinner, fed the cats, brushed my teeth, and got in bed, I stared at the ceiling and I'd go back to that moment. That moment when he told me to get on my knees and feeling that gun press up against your

head, that gun just loaded with a lethal possibility. And the sorrow that I felt, the shame of my inaction, it's a guilt that doesn't go away. I couldn't understand how I gave up on my life so effortlessly. You have to understand that I have a very fortunate life. I've traveled around the world, I've swum with sharks, I've jumped out of airplanes. I have parents in a family that love and care for me. I have friends that call my brothers and sisters and a wife. I have a beautiful wife

who makes every day better. In the laugh I wouldn't have mountains to hear. But there was kneeling on the floor. I wasn't pleading, I wasn't struggling, I was waiting. Waiting for this stranger to kill me. People try to make you feel better. They say everything happens for a reason. And I understand the sentiment, I do, but I don't agree with it. When they say that, it sounds like there's some arcane justification for senselessness, that there's some cosmic fatalism at play.

What I believe is that everything happens. And it's our job as humans to give reason to it. We give meaning to the inscrutable. So as I think back on that day, I know that my mother, she's fine. She's still the caring, compassionate, wonderful woman that she's always been. Me? I'm a little more suspicious, maybe a little more guarded. Because moments like that,

they shape you, they change you. You never forget them. And that's the terrible beauty of the past. You remember the good and the bad. Thank you. That was Daniel Turpin. Daniel told us his mother is doing well these days and working harder than ever. He looks forward to covering her at work in the not-so-distant future so she can take a month off and relax. Daniel recently wrote in an email to me that one of the things

he appreciates about the Moth is the opportunity to simply sit and listen. He said, it's so rare these days, I know personally that I am too often trying to formulate my response to what's being communicated to me rather than really listening to what's being said. You can visit our website to see pictures and learn more about all the storytellers you've heard in this hour, and while you're there, you can find out more about our live events that's on our website, themoth.org. That's it for this episode. We hope you'll join us again next time for the Moth Radio Hour.

Your host this hour was Meg Bowles. Meg also directed the stories in the show. The rest of the most directorial staff includes Catherine Burns, Sarah Haberman, Sarah Austin Janess and Jennifer Hickson, production support from Timothy Looley. All stories are true, is remembered and affirmed by the storytellers, our theme music is by the drift, other music in this hour from Bill Fruzel, Chili Gonzalez and Lola Tone. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by me, Jay Allison, with Vicki Merrick at Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts,

and special thanks to WCAI, also in Woods Hole. This hour was produced with funds from the National Endowment for the Arts. The Moth Radio Hour is presented by PRX for more about our podcast, for information on pitching us your own story, and everything else, go to our website, TheMoth.org.