When you have a burning case of impostor syndrome.
#60M2IM Day 17/100
I live just on the introverted side of the tracks.
Sometimes I can step across. I thrive in an crowd as long as I feel confident that I belong there and the energy is positive and authentic. And then I need to crawl into my bed and recover.
I was so nervous leading up to the first Ninja Writers Retreat. I was positive that everyone was going to stare at me and expect me to be brilliant and I was going to have to find some way to send them to their rooms to write. With authority, so it seemed like I knew what I was doing.
When I totally, totally didn’t know what I was doing.
I told Kevin, my husband, just before I left for Virginia City that I was never, not ever, going to do this again. I told Zach, my assistant, the same thing while we were buying muffins and oranges and a ginormous spinach salad at Costco so at least I wouldn’t have a bunch of disappointed AND hungry Ninjas on my hands.
I brought wine and rum, too. Just in case.
And then Kim and Kathi got there. Then Rita, who flew in from Nashville (one of my heart cities. Just hearing her voice made me happy.) And Beverly who drove from Missouri to Nevada just to hang out with us. And Dawn and Julie and Lisa and Cindie and Stacey and Jonielle and Sam — who are my local tribe.
And then it was fine. By the end of the first night, I was already planning next time.
Then I got home Sunday night. Now it’s Monday night. And tomorrow I have to be at the airport before the sun comes up. I’m headed out to Austin for the Smarter Artist Conference.
At least there hasn’t been enough time for my nerves to kick in. Not really enough time to think about whether or not I’m going to feel like a poser surrounded by awesome people who might be able to see through be and figure out that I don’t really know what I’m doing.
That’s a theme for me — this whole impostor syndrome thing.
It’s a symptom of being addicted to big, epic goals. Of being hardwired to leap before I look. Of being what my childhood sweetheart’s mother used call a future jumper. I can see the end and I just barrel toward it, even though the middle part is all a blur.
I’m in the middle part of this whole Ironman thing. Sort of. Kind of. Is it the middle if I couldn’t run a mile right now if that creepy redheaded kid from Children of the Corn was chasing me?
I can see the finish line. I just need to figure out the getting there part.
Thanks for future jumping with me.
Day: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16.
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