Designing an Embarrassment-free Life

The story of the Original Sin informed much more about my life than I have cared to believe. I attended a private Christian school from pre-K through the fifth grade. My parents weren’t particularly religious, it was more about small class sizes and individual attention from teachers that motivated them to enroll my brother and I in a religious institution. If we learned some morals in the process, great!

Every Friday, students and teachers made their way to the school’s chapel for a weekly service, sermoned by the principal, Mrs. Jackson*. She was a tall, domineering woman with a short perm, kind voice and toothy smile. She was passionate. She would deliver bible lessons wrapped in colorful allegories, always paired with overhead transparencies that illustrated the characters and actions of each story. My personal favorites emerged over the years, one of them involving an actual bull whip, which she cracked repeatedly on stage for dramatic effect. That one never got old and I never could fully prepare for the ear-splitting “wah-PSH!” that echoed through the chapel. The Garden of Eden was, of course, a staple in Mrs. Jackson’s repertoire. By the time I reached fifth grade, I’d heard the tale of the Forbidden Fruit and Adam and Eve’s sudden onset of shameful nakedness many times. Sometimes I wonder if this is where my deep fear of embarrassment is rooted. You see, from the moment I was capable of feeling embarrassment — to any degree — I have strived to prevent it, avoid it, squash it before it can take a desperate breath.

Obviously, this type of behavior is human nature. Avoiding pain in all of its forms is part of our instincts, hard-wired into our lizard brains. But the amount of energy and effort that I have invested into this endeavor goes beyond human nature standards. I routinely conduct “embarrassment potential” surveys of situations that I encounter: a list of the things I could do or say that might embarrass me, a list of things others could do or say to inflict embarrassment. I’m so keenly aware and prepared for embarrassment, ritualistically monitoring the minute details of every conversation, that I often find it difficult to make meaningful connections in certain settings. I’ve developed a sharp wit to combat any offenders who wish to challenge my embarrassment-meter with insults or condescension. My efforts, as heavyweight as they may be, have not gone undefeated. The inevitability of embarrassment has reached me on occasion. But I believe my preparedness measures have landed me in the bottom of the “times you looked like a moron and/or failure AKA normal human being” percentile. This, however, comes with a price tag, one that has been nagging me lately, scratching the back of my neck, reminding me of my shortcomings in life.

My husband recently introduced me to an interview with the screen writer and filmmaker Terence Winter (The Sopranos, Boardwalk Empire, The Wolf of Wall Street). In it, he discussed a writer’s conference he attended early in his career in which attendees were asked to volunteer a really embarrassing moment in their lives. “You can tell within 30 seconds, this guy’s not gonna make it, you know,” he went on to mention one attendee’s sad answer:

“‘I buy lottery tickets.’ That’s the most embarrassing thing for you?” Terence Winter remarked. “You’re obviously not connected with yourself and you’re not willing to share.”

He goes on to discuss how as a writer, you have to be willing to open up and be vulnerable about your experiences as a way to channel and write authentic characters that connect with your audience. After listening to the interview, my husband asked me, “So, what’s you’re most embarrassing moment?”

I choked.

I drew a blank. I must have something. As many times as I’d agonized after a cocktail party or networking event over what I had imagined to be The Most Embarrassing Moment of My Life, how could I be conjuring up a sea of emptiness?

I felt embarrassed in that moment. I couldn’t come up with anything a normal person would deem more than a “slightly uncomfortable situation.” Had a I really led such a vanilla life that I didn’t have a single story worthy of epic laughter or even empathetic head-shaking?

This moment served two purposes for me: on one hand, I had led a vanilla life in terms of how protective I was about keeping my comfort level and “safety zone” intact. On the other, I had plenty of embarrassing moments, but Terence Winter was right. I was not connected enough with myself to share them, and above all, I wasn’t willing to share for the exact reason I should be: I was afraid of being embarrassed about how embarrassing my moment would sound, of being judged for my misdeed or perceived stupidity. And I realized that I was missing the point.

I know I’ve missed out on a lot of interesting experiences because I was afraid of their embarrassment potential. I’m working on caring less about the possibility of being embarrassed and just learning to deal with it when it actually happens. This story is a great example of my progress: what an awfully embarrassing thing to admit.

I originally wrote this piece a year ago. I was not ready to share it at the time, but I read it tonight and, I think I’ve come a long way. For example, I recently danced very badly/amazingly at a wedding with only a minor buzz. Alone, on a mostly empty dance floor. Where’s my gold star?

But there’s still progress to be made.

*Name changed.