This one is dedicated to Ms. Jill Borra and Mr. Kevin Siu of the Globe and Mail. I’ll be contacting you soon.

I was talking to my friend in New York last week about her husband whose career is on the verge of exploding. He’s the most driven, confident, and self-assured person I’ve ever met in my life. Ever. Ever. Ever.

Lately, he’s been working harder than almost anyone I know and apparently, it’s getting to him.

“It’s like he wants a gold star on his forehead,” his wife told me. “I think I should do that. I think I should go out and buy a roll of gold stars from Sandylion and stick them on his face, one by one until he looks like David Bowie.”

In short, this guy needs confirmation about everything.  Everything. Everything. Everything.

I totally get it.

Recently, a few of my girly girls and I have started playing a very healthy game where we’ll sit around on a bed and say at least one nice thing about each other before the end of our hang out session. (Reminiscent of this.)

You want to know why? Because most of the time, we’re all in our heads, telling ourselves we’re not good enough, our work isn’t good enough and everything we do isn’t good enough.

So it’s nice to have friends who can play along with this game where you not so gently stroke each other’s egos. You don’t even know how good it feels until you try it.

It’s a feeling you can get used to it.

This week I used Facebook to ask my followers to help me describe I’m a Good Story, partially for work reasons, but mostly for ego-stroking reasons. Here’s a few things people said:

“Elianna Lev doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but she does, usually by writing about the things that make her uncomfortable, of which there are very, very many.” – Sarah Steinberg, my editor at enRoute and my former editor at Vice

“Honest, heart-felt and at times poignant, I’m a Good Story tells of the journey to find truth, inspiration and personal insight amidst the beauty and schlock of post-postmodern life and relationships.” – Hilary Henegar, my editor at Granville magazine

“Personal, without sentiment, honest without being precious, always leaving the reader with a lesson or piece of useful insight” – Louise Burns, professional musician, formerly of the band Lillix

That felt great until my ex-boyfriend, professional improviser and certified jerkface Taz Van Rassel chimed in:

“Remember that girl in high school who told you every detail of her life regardless of whether you asked or not? That’s what I’m a Good Story is like, but less gothy.”

I’m in an interesting place in my career where I’m about to start taking more chances. I have to or else I won’t get where I want to be. It’s terrifying and thrilling and, really, all I can think about. I’m one of those driven types who won’t settle until they achieve what they want.  And what I want are big, big things.

I met with five of my mentors this week to ask for guidance as I enter this critical point in my life. Here’s the wise words I took away from each of them.

1)   You’re doing the right thing.
2)   Don’t think. Do.
3)   The world needs people who do what you do.
4)   You are good at what you do.
5)   When you write a story, write more than one side to it.

It helped a lot.

There are a lot of people like me. And many of us seem to be in the same place right now, all waiting for our big moment and working our asses off until it happens.

If I had one word to describe this weird place we’re in, I wouldn’t use the word “fulfilling.” Instead, I’d use ‘stressful.’ I’d even use all caps: ‘STRESSFUL.’

(As I’m writing this, I’m toggling between five different files and my web browser, working on two different contracts, one huge pitch and on the phone ordering some overpriced iPhone text plan for the US, as I’m taking a trip to LA with my writing partner later this week. STRESSFUL.)

We driven types work hard and often we’re rewarded. But equally as often, the reward doesn’t feel quite as good as we’d expect it to feel, considering the amount of energy (STRESSFUL energy) that was put in.

But whose fault is that?

I’ll think about that when I have a moment. But for now, I have way too much work to do.

——

My mentors, listed in order of how their advice appeared:

1. Terri Theodore, reporter and broadcaster extraordinaire for the Canadian Press

2. Marsha Lederman, Western arts correspondent for the Globe and Mail

3. Catherine Winckler, partner and creative director of Switch United

4. Steve Pratt, director of CBC Radio 3

5. My dad.

Let’s go against the only writing rule I follow and start with a cliché: It seems like the only things people are talking about these days are the Olympics. That’s why I’m not. But I know it sells so I had to use it to get your attention. Now that I have your attention, let me tell you something. You know what else sells: (yes, another cliché…wait for it) sex.

But I’m not selling sex. Let me make that clear. I’m actually selling my friend Taz VanRassel. Do you know him? Of course you do. You just don’t know him by name. Or more accurately, he doesn’t know you by name. He’s that lanky, dapperly dressed guy around town with the enormous features. Despite not personally knowing who he was, years ago, I knew who he was. I distinctly remember him serving me coffee at Sen5es (now long gone.) He has a strong presence. And that’s because he’s a true performer.

You’ve probably seen him. He’s one of the founders of The Sunday Service, this city’s most entertaining and compelling improv show. Or maybe you’ve seen him at Vancouver Theatresports League or co-hosting Talent Time. Or one of the other comedy shows’ he’s put on, like Arrogance, which was co-hosted with Stop Podcasting Yourself’s Dave Shumka. Or his current one, Hilari-Yes! , which he does with the charmingly droll Pat Kelly.

You’ve seen him. You’ve probably even said hi. And chances are, he probably gave you a weird look. That’s because he’s a jerk. But not a genuine one. And that’s why I adore him.

Before I go on, it should be noted that Taz and I used to date. Luckily we’re the kind of couple who were able to maintain a relationship after we broke up. He’s a guy you want around because he has such a big heart.

But anyone who knows me knows that big hearts alone don’t go very far in my love life. It’s something I’m still figuring out in therapy. And that’s why I was drawn to Taz. He’s a well-intentioned jerk, so it’s not like he’s going to put me in countless sessions of EMDR therapy to deal with big T traumas as a result of four years of abuse (not that that happened to me or anything.)

I recently sat down with Taz to talk about what’s behind his lovable jerk act. And shamelessly promote his show.

Me: A lot of the jerks I’ve dated have similar upbringings. They were all bullied in school, didn’t go anywhere near a girl until they were at least in their late teens, early twenties – do you relate?

Taz VanRassel: That’s true for me.

Me: So were you a jerk beforehand or after you stopped being a loser in high school?

TVR: I was shy beforehand.

Me: Also, bullied in school? That’s a common thread with jerks.

TVR: Yes, this is also very common for comedians. Late bloomers and bullied in school. But it’s not a jerk thing. You have to have an air to be in comedy or else the audience won’t believe that you should be up there.

Me: And you know this very well. What does it take to be a jerk?

TVR: I’m just curt and I say things without thinking of the consequences. I’ve made people cry but without meaning to. I’m not mean spirited. I tend to say things that are truthful and hurt people’s feelings.

Me: What’s the worst things you’ve said to me?

TVR: You take it pretty well. You don’t tend to get offended.

Me: So does that defeat the purpose of being a jerk?

TVR: Let me get this straight. I’m not trying to be a jerk on purpose. I make sensitive people cry. It just happens. I’m not trying to be mean. And I’m usually surprised. When it happens I’m like, “Oh what? I said an offhand remark about not liking corduroy and that’s what your vest is made of. I’m sorry.”  The first time I met you, didn’t I say I wasn’t a fan of blogs or podcasts?  And then I later found out that that’s what you do.

Me: I just assume no one knows what I do. What makes you cry, you big meanie? Words or actions?

TVR: Well, I was watching Uptown Girls recently. It made me tear up a bit. Dakota Fanning was so small. And Brittany Murphy is dead. And I was alone in a motel room. I’m not coming across as being a jerk at all. Let’s talk about our whirlwind romance. That was probably a dream come true for you. On again, off again for three months –

Me: Try six.

TVR: – Indifferent, uncertain. Taking all your food.

Me: If I had to summarize you in three words it would be hungry, broke and energetic. And by energetic, I mean wanton. What about me?

TVR: Are we doing bad words or good words? I don’t know. Honest, overly critical and dopey.

Me: Dopey? Like the dwarf?

TVR: No, I mean emotional. I think the meanest thing I ever said to you was not knowing or remembering things, like your middle name.

Me: Because you don’t listen. You don’t care.

TVR: I only remember things I want to hear. Then I go about my business.

Me: You’re self-absorbed.

TVR: Yeah, I’m in comedy.

Me: Haven’t you ever read “How to win friends and influence people?” I haven’t but I think the only thing you need to know about that book is that to succeed in life you have to listen. Because people love to talk, especially about themselves.

TVR: I let people talk about themselves. I just don’t take it in.

Me: Well, whatever you do, it works. You certainly don’t have a problem with the ladies. But I’ll let you in on a secret. Girls like jerks. They have this reputation but then only you and maybe their mom know their soft side.

TVR: Let me let you in on a secret: That’s not a secret. Most guys know that.

Me: So do you play that up for the ladies?

TVR: I don’t try to. It’ll take me three times meeting someone before I know their name.

Me: You’re really bad at that. Fucking jerk.

TVR: And… you’re welcome.