Sometimes the only thing to do about your lack of confidence is…
wait to get older.
When I was young, my family shuffled through a variety of old, embarrassing cars. I rode the bus to high school from my rural grade school to avoid a sighting of being dropped off in any of them. My heart pounded every time we parked in the proximity of people. I broke out in sweat!
But it never phased my parents. They were happy with their reliable transportation, no matter the packaging. There were more important things for them to worry about. Grownup things. Like work and dropping the ungrateful teenager off at her old grade school.
As you get older, your “Look at All the Bothers I Give” button gets stuck in the on position. You have stuff to do and taking the extra time to do it timidly is an unnecessary step…like “putting on a bra,” “combing your hair,” “reading fine print, disclaimers, advisories.”
With no real effort on my part, I’m way less uptight about things than I was fifteen years ago. This may not translate directly into “confidence,” but the effects are nearly as good and it can lead right into it.
When I got old (30!), I finally found the confidence to do something I always wanted to do: write a book.
But I did something unthinkable: I made it available to the public! My own hands passed it to people I knew.
What pomp and pretension: I signed every copy!!!
But this isn’t a tale of magic and wonder in which a girl, taxied around in her youth in boat-cars-not-even-popular-in-the-70s, wrote a book that sold millions of copies, and finally discovered the potential that waited inside her all along (and, with it, the confidence to be the ice-breaker at parties and rule nations).
This is a blog about the hard-fought battle with the hydra Confidence (the heads regenerate when severed from the body only to hackle your lousy writing abilities—the nerve!). The never-ending quest for the illusive Grail of Confidence. Confidence is the dream that fades upon waking.
Because. Because. I’m no longer promoting that book. Because confidence is also a cheap five-month-old party balloon, cowering along the linoleum under the kitchen table.
But that’s okay.
Because. I also know that gaining years is but one way to gain confidence. I’ve discovered enough little things to lift me up, hopefully lift you up, and maintain a blog along the way.
This is about wearing your heart on your book sleeve. Your ¾ sleeve. Your biker jacket sleeve. Your tube top sleeve. Or your butt.
A little more confidence is on its way. Even if it’s just that you’re a little older now than you were at the beginning.