yes please(47)

“We have a problem.”

“Oh?”

“Your audio wasn’t good. Your mic wasn’t working correctly.”

“Oh.”

So now I realized not only was he not coming to apologize, he was there to deliver more bad news. I practiced a few things I have learned from my therapist and other badass business bitches. I sat back. Actually, I leaned back. I thought about my second book, which will be a bestseller coauthored with Sheryl Sandberg titled Lean Back. I uncrossed my legs and I made eye contact. I immediately decided this was not my problem, and the relief of that decision spread across my chest like hot cocoa. Too often we women try to tackle chaos that is not ours to fix.

“Well, that is disappointing,” I said.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said.

I practiced another new thing I’ve learned. I just sat there quietly. It was so hard. I once sat next to Christopher Walken as we were rehearsing a sketch for SNL. I had tried small talk with him a few times, and he was extremely pleasant, but I just felt like I was bothering him. So as an experiment I tried to just sit next to him and be quiet. It was excruciating. I think I lasted for three minutes and then I had to pretend to read a bag of chips. Not talking can be hard for me. But I tried it.

“Hmm,” I said. (I know, I know, I was technically talking.)

“Would you do it again? Without an audience? So we could make sure we have it for the broadcast?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” I said, quietly but firmly.

“Well, I just don’t know what to do,” he said.

I sat in silence. I’m doing good so far, right?

“Maybe I can do ADR if you need it,” I said. ADR is recording audio over a taped piece. Notice what I am doing? I am starting to offer ways to fix it even though a minute ago I felt great reminding myself it wasn’t my problem to fix.

“That would be great,” he said. “Are you sure you don’t want to do it again, just so we can be sure we have it?”

So now he had heard my no and was still asking. Gavin de Becker talks about this in his wonderful book The Gift of Fear. He talks about how the word “no” should be the “end of the discussion, not the beginning of a negotiation.” I am obsessed with The Gift of Fear. I quote it too much. My friends roll their eyes when they hear my Gift of Fear train coming. But how can you deny such hilarious gems as “Most men fear getting laughed at or humiliated by a romantic prospect while most women fear rape and death”? I mean, who doesn’t want me spouting that kind of stuff at their Christmas party?

I said no again. I said that I didn’t want to go back out and do my speech again in front of an empty room.

So that should have been it, right?

No.

Instead, the producer stood up and said, “I’m sorry. This has been stressful. Can I give you a hug?”

Now, I wish that I could tell you I said no. When I retold the story that night to my friends, I lied and told them I didn’t let him hug me. I told them that I said something like “No. No, you can’t.” My friends all nodded their heads when I told them that. They all believed that I wouldn’t let this guy give me a hug. I was a successful and independent woman! I was strong! I secretly disliked most new people!

But I did let him hug me. I let that creepy guy hug me. I stayed seated and he came over and hugged my stiff body while my arms stayed at my sides. All I was thinking at that moment was that if I let him hug me he would feel better and this would all be over soon.

Do you think he would have hugged a male performer?

Me neither. Either way, it never ends.



A little space.

Yes Please.





let’s build a park




? NBC/Getty Images

PLAYING LESLIE KNOPE IS AS FUN AS IT LOOKS. I get to be the lead on a show I would actually watch. I’ve met friends whom I will treasure forever. I am allowed on a weekly basis to both crack jokes and cry. It’s been hard to wrangle this chapter because I still feel too close to the job to step away and share it all with you. When this book goes to print we will be finishing our seventh and last season, and shooting our 125th show. My nose is still pressed up against the painting and I have little perspective. Because of this, I am going to do what I have been doing for the past six years, which is write something and ask Parks and Recreation creator Mike Schur to make it better. Let’s continue . . .

Every acting job feels like the end of the road. If you’re lucky, you get to peek at what is around the corner. It’s a privilege if a clear path is laid out that will take you to another work environment. It’s rare that someone builds a bridge to the next great thing. After Saturday Night Live my bridge was Michael Schur. The next great thing was Parks and Recreation.1

1 Note from Mike: My grandmother wanted me to be an engineer; being called a “bridge” is the closest I will ever get, and so I thank you.

Mike and I were friends and coworkers at Saturday Night Live. He was a writer before I got there and ran “Weekend Update” during the Tina Fey/Jimmy Fallon years. Mike is a whip-smart Harvard grad who manages to be as compassionate as he is funny. He is a lover of justice, the underdog, and the good fight. Never is this demonstrated more than in his love for the Boston Red Sox. I watched the Red Sox win the World Series with Mike and Seth Meyers and other Boston writers,2 and Mike even turned all those e-mails into a book.3 On the last page, Mike transcribed a phone message from his therapist4 congratulating him on the Red Sox win.