My first interview was with a person whose name I forgot three minutes after meeting him. I was 19, trying very hard to look "grown up." I had a notepad, a pen, and panic. We sat down at a table, I turned on the recorder and asked:
— How do you feel about... about... um... this... well...

He looked at me and said:
— This? You mean coffee?

I nodded. Of course, I didn't mean coffee. I didn't even know what I was talking about.

The next one was with a designer. I was very nervous. I knew he was picky. I had memorized his collections, the names of his models, everything. The interview began — and the recorder stopped working. Completely. I tried not to show it. I pretended to just write things down with my hand. After twenty minutes, he leaned over and said:
— Writing things down? And your pen doesn’t write.

I looked — really. No ink. All I had was a pencil… with an eraser on both ends.

The third interview took place outdoors. It was windy. I had a new microphone. I was proud of it. It looked professional. We started talking… and a minute later, a gust of wind tore the microphone away. It flew, hit the pavement, and no longer worked. And the interviewee simply said:
— I think it’s a sign.

Sometimes I said the wrong thing. I asked an actor who inspired him, and he answered:
— My mother.
And for some reason I laughed. Awkwardly, stupidly. He was offended. I apologized. Strongly. And then he said:
— Okay. You are honest. That’s rare.

An interview is not just about questions. It is awkwardness, honesty, laughter, falls and improvisation. I stopped being afraid when I realized that mistakes are part of the process. And if you can laugh at yourself, you are forgiven a lot. Even two erasers instead of a pencil.