Joyful Recollections of Trauma: A Hilariously Cathartic Memoir-in-Essays of Childhood Turmoil, Self Healing, and Finding Happiness

by Paul Scheer

Back in the mid-2000s, Friday Night Lights was still in its infancy, and I saw Connie Britton leaving the movies. I was a fan, and I wanted to say something, but I also didn’t want to blow her cover in a crowded space or risk making things awkward, so I came up with a plan: I made a beeline toward her and quickly blurted out, “I just want to tell you I think you are phenomenal. Love your work. Have a great night.” As quickly as I said this, I kept walking—it was a gratitude drive-by. While it may have been a bit unnerving in its speed, I was proud of that interaction. I geeked out and got out—perfect. It felt good until, the following weekend, I went to a wedding where I realized that my friend was dating Connie Britton and we were all seated at the same table. Fuck! Now my mind was racing: Does she realize I’m the same guy? It was so recent. When she sat down, we shook hands, and she stopped, looking curiously at me. “We’ve met, right?” My brain raced through how this could play out. Do I just admit it? Maybe it will be funny. No, it will be weird. So I did what I do best in moments like these: I lied. I pretended to think for a second and said, “I don’t think so?” I couldn’t tell whether she bought it, so I went to plan B: out of sight, out of mind. I literally didn’t go back to the table for the rest of the night. I ate at a different table. It was the only way I could be assured not to have an awkward moment. June was confounded: “Where did you go?” To which I replied,...