This Is Not Virgin Territory…
The other day, as bile rose at the back of my throat and threatened to announce itself on the front of my four inch stilettos, I marveled that simply the mere mention of writing for an unfamiliar and ‘uncontrolled’ audience could have elicited such a violent physical response. I mean, realistically… how difficult could it be posting on yet another social media site?! But the sweat did break out and the heaving started. So, it got me thinking. About nervousness and fear.
Let’s address this…
How many first dates have we gone on? Yet, the palms still sweat, we change clothing one million times (sometimes because we have vomited on one outfit or two!), we contemplate cancelling and we stand outside the meeting place hyperventilating into a paper bag! That job interview. I say, “that” but it truly is interview number sixteen as we have been out of work for a while now. Yet we’re still convinced when asked we won’t even be able to remember the high school we attended! First-time sex. Not to be confused with, sex for the first time. You see, one warrants nervousness — you have absolutely no idea what you’re doing and everything you have heard or read leads you to believe you are to seductively and successfully contribute to the moment when a corner of his/her world stops on its axis! “First-time sex”? You know damned well you are so well practiced in this area, the only thing to be nervous about is the possibility this new partner had heard about your many others! Listen, how about the fear and nervousness that comes about when, after having written extensively for years– in school, for friends, your scintillating social media posts, a blog even, you decide to take what you hope are burgeoning skills out for a spin… and submit to Medium.com!
So just what is this thing that makes us, even with complete knowledge and (former) confidence in our skills and abilities as they pertain to certain areas, doubt ourselves to the point of sickness? Is it as simple as weighing a thing for its importance to us and finding it high on that scale? Or is it that most of us are simply prone to reacting insecurely to those people and situations that, even as the act/action may be familiar, the specifics are different? Yes, I have dated, made love, interviewed, written before, but the ‘audience’ in any of these situations is different from the last; thus their/its strangeness activates my uncertainty.
I have sat back and watched myself in moments of newness, some trivial, others of importance. I have taken note of my anxiety when I am trotting out a new, bold hairstyle and marveled that it mirrors the anxiety when called upon to read out loud in front of a class. I marvel for two reasons: (1) being bold — in physical appearance — can be successfully argued as my norm and, (2) similarly is being verbally bold. Listen, I can sum them both up with this: my name is Fury. Yes; it is. Yet, there are those moments when I seem to forget that I know. I know how to date (well, I used to… before I got married). I know how to make love (I guess that is in part why I am married). I know how to interview (I must; I got the job and have been here for five years). I know how to write. Okay; even as there is no debating the others, this one I grant you… do I know how to write?
As I write this I am coming to some conclusions; the most important being, there are two components that dance to the beat anxiety plays — validation and acceptance. It seems in situations that are new, in those moments and places where we have yet to conquer our audience, the thing that gets us all sweaty, weak-kneed and nauseous, is our ego. Our fear is less a fear of forgetting we know what we know, that we are qualified or even that we are talented; our fear is simply a fear that our new audience may not agree. We are afraid that somewhere along the line, someone will eventually point out to us that we are not as good as either we, or our well-meaning friends and families have told us we are. Not the most beautiful. Not the best lay. Not qualified enough. Not a skilled writer.
Isn’t it ironic? We have grown into adults who have voluntarily placed our opinion of ourselves, our capabilities and our talents into the similarly sweaty hands of others.
