Roo McGoo (an incomplete history)

Throughout the past two years, I could imagine few things more terrifying than writing this article. The gremlins in my head were very clear on this subject:

"You're going to post on a website you made without permission from anyone, and dare to tell stories, AND sing songs?! Who do you think you are?"

For what has seemed like an eternity, the gremlins kept me from "starting" this website in a fully realized form, from posting musical videos regularly, from wholly owning my interest in certain skills I've always been passionate about refining. 

It wasn't until recently, when I decided it was time to organize my ideas into the "Inauguroo Season" of content, launch an IndieGoGo for funding (see campaign video above), and begin posting videos and articles regularly on RooMcGoo, that it hit me: all along the way to this moment right now where I'm chewing my iced coffee straw and writing this article, it wasn't that I had ever not "started" doing this work, it was that I instead continually stopped myself from continuing it. Because, actually, my attraction to "stories that sing" and making videos started without my permission, or awareness.

It started when I pretended to be Belle (the Disney Princess Elsa wishes she was) on the play set my dad built in our backyard- and stopped when I thought one of our neighbors would "catch" me. 

It started when, at age 6, I did my first one-man show (along to the Ernie Rubber Duckie Cassette Tape, LIVE, in my bedroom)- and stopped when I didn't perform another one because I felt like I was instead supposed to be good at basketball...or baseball...or soccer...or...you get the idea. 

It started every time a friend came over for a playdate that ended with a new short video made on my parents' VCR-sized 1980s camcorder, or when I sang "My Heart Will Go On" to that camcorder and felt pure joy hearing my parents choke on their laughter when I played it back for them, or when I purchased the domain name "RooMcGoo.com" over two years ago with zero idea what I even wanted to say, or who I was saying it to. FULL DISCLOSURE: I still don't know, I just feel ready to start figuring it out. 

Every time it "started," it stopped. And stopped. It always stopped. Because I was scared. Really, really (, really, really, etc.) scared. There is a part of me that is still scared. But, in spite of that, the rest of me refuses to stop myself anymore, because I wish we could all un-stop ourselves from pursuing what it is we care about and connect with more than anything else in the world. Whatever that may be. 

So, whoever you are, reading this, thanks for bearing with me. Because of you, I'm finally ready to un-stop myself. Welcome to the start. 

                                    Me pretending to be Belle in the backyard...pretty good, huh?