A few weeks ago my friend Shelli asked me if I wanted to play a character in a western-themed murder mystery for a local fundraiser. And whereas I’ve been telling people that she roped me into doing it (get it, western, roped?), the fact is I simply agreed. Still, I hesitated at first because staying at home sounded better and dressing up and acting aren’t always within my comfort zone. But then I thought, Come on, Marcus, live a little, and said yes. As the grandma in the movie Arthur says, “What the hell? We live once.”

The murder mystery was tonight, and my friend Kim let me borrow some of her husband’s cowboy clothes for my costume–boots, jeans, and a fancy shirt with roses on it. She even loaned me a pair of genuine chaps. And yes, they were ass-less. (All chaps are, I think.) Literally topping things off with my own cowboy hat, I headed to the party, which was held at a fancy private residence and included dinner, drinks, and desserts.

And to think I considered staying at home on the couch.

The setup was that I was the bad guy, Wavy Will, the outlaw in the town of Gravestone. (The whole thing was a spoof on the movie Tombstone, in which “my” character was Curly Bill. Get it, Curly Bill, Wavy Will? ) They had wanted posters with my mug on them plastered all over the place. Wanted Alive–Wavy Will Bronchus–$1,000.

Now come on, I think I’m worth more than that.

As guests arrived at the affair (supposedly held in a saloon), the other characters and I interacted and dropped clues about our relationships. For example, Wylie Arp (Wyatt Earp) had just moved to Gravestone, and several of the other characters wanted him to run for sheriff so he could arrest me and my band of outlaws, The Ranchers (The Cowboys). After two rounds of interaction, I turned up dead. This was a surprise to me and everybody else, although the whole point was that SOMEBODY was going to die. From this point on, I had a halo on and could walk around and make (ghostly) faces but couldn’t talk.

Dead men tell no tales.

Here’s a picture from the end of the game when each character got their final say. The girl beside me was the only guest to figure out who shot me three times in the chest. It was Abby Oakley (Annie Oakley), pictured above and below in red, whom I’d insulted earlier in the evening. “You couldn’t hit the backside of a barn,” I yelled. “Girls can’t shoot guns.”

Obviously, I was wrong.

Y’all, I’m thrilled I agreed to do this thing. I had so much fun getting into character and playing and visiting with my friends. (I ended up knowing several cast members in addition to Shelli.) Some of them had done a murder mystery before and/or acted in the theater and were absolutely inspiring to watch and work with. Since leaving the party, I’ve been thinking about how I could improve my character if ever given the chance to do it again.

One of the things I thought about tonight was how it can often feel strange to “try on” a new personality trait–assertiveness, for example–but how it can actually be fun. This has been my experience since starting therapy. I used to think of myself as shy and timid–a people pleaser. But that was just a character I was playing, and I’ve since learned to play a different one, one I like better. Dustin Hoffman says that this is what acting is, tweaking your personality the way you tweak your wardrobe when you’re trying to pick something out to wear for dinner. You grab a shirt and think, No, that’s not right, so you grab another.

Likewise, you can do this with you personality in your day-to-day life. If you have a discussion with your boss or friend and it doesn’t go well, you can try again. You can adjust your tone, be more assertive, be more receiving, whatever it takes. You can keep trying until it feels right, until you think, Yeah, that’s it. That feels more honest. That feels more like me.

Tonight’s blog is number 800 (in a row). And whereas I wish I had something profound to say to commemorate this fact, I don’t. Instead, I’m ready to call it a night. Still, it occurs to me that most of us don’t know ourselves. We grow up thinking that we’re shy or timid or not one to speak up, talk about ourselves, or share personal details. I used to think these things. But from day one of the blog I’ve purposed to be honest, to not play a character but–as much as is possible–play myself. Tonight my friend Shelli said, “There were women at the party who thought you were so cute.” I said, “Do they have brothers?!” Oh my gosh, y’all, I never would have said this five years ago. I was too worried about what other people thought. But tonight it just came flying out–because I’m in the habit of being honest, of being myself. Lately I’ve been cursing more in dance lessons. I don’t apologize. This is who I am.

Sometimes I say four-letter words.

My point in sharing these examples is not to say that being out or cursing when you feel like it are the measures of authenticity. They aren’t. If you’d told me five years ago I’d be doing these things, I would have told you to go play in traffic. In other words, the me of the past is absolutely shocked by the behavior of the me of the present (as are plenty of people who’ve known me for years, I’ve been told). My point is that you really don’t know what you’re capable of until you try. Part of you will always think you can’t be assertive or honest or strong or independent or even affectionate if you’ve never been these things because that’s all you’ve ever known. But if you try a different way and succeed, you prove to that part of yourself that you’re more than what you thought you were. Is this scary? Yes, as hell. But it’s worth it. This is what 800 days of being honest has taught me–that just as you can’t have new experiences and enjoy the world around you by staying home on your couch, you can’t discover your hidden strengths, talents, and abilities by staying within your comfort zone. Indeed, everything worth having is OUTSIDE your comfort zone.