Ben Lerner

I felt like a minor character in a novel written by someone who had read and remembered some novels I had read.

I was intensely bored by my own voice, so I spoke as little as possible.

I felt my life to be a series of tableaux, each more preposterous and embarrassing than the last.

I was aware of myself as a performing animal.

I felt that I was acting in the play of my own life, that I was constantly being observed.

I often felt I was impersonating the sort of person who gives poetry readings.

I felt that the most I could hope for was to be a passive instrument in the realization of the city’s beauty.

I had the feeling that I was acting in a way that was both sincere and wholly contrived.

I was skeptical of the language I was learning, but I was even more skeptical of the language I was born speaking.

I was always aware of the ways in which I might be seen and judged.

I felt like I was living in a state of heightened performance anxiety.

I was so self-conscious that I felt as if I were performing myself.