Hi, Anxiety: Life at the National Spelling Bee
This is an excerpt from my book Hi, Anxiety: Life With a Bad Case of Nerves and it seemed relevant at this time of year.
In 1986, when I was thirteen years old, I traveled to Washington, D.C., to compete in the National Spelling Bee. I had already been dealing with the physical effects of anxiety since I was too young to really know what was going on, but the pressure of this situation was like nothing I had ever experienced. To this day, I cannot watch the Bee on TV without my throat closing up, and my nerves were in such a frazzled state at the time, my dad, having done some light reading on Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, made Transcendental Meditation a part of our regular practice sessions. (Note: it was mostly lost on me, but I take comfort in the occasional “ohm.”)
This is an excerpt from the diary I kept during the days I spent there. Clearly Elle’s lessons had sunk in. God forbid I give myself a pat on the back for having made it all that way. The only positive outcomes: win (and heaven help me if I did that), or be a massive disappointment to everyone who had put their faith in me.
Diary Entry: May 28, 1986
Suffice it to say I almost lost my awful Egg McMuffin in the first round. I had no idea that it would take this kind of toll on my body. We were in our seats at eight fifteen, they didn’t stop talking until a nerve-racking nine. It was then only the practice round and people were already out for blood. I mean we knew our words and they would already ask for everything. One boy says, “Please define” like a robot, another says, “C” — five-minute pause — “ A” — five minutes — “ can I start over? C . . .”
I made it through without fainting, but afterward, during the break, I looked for something long and sharp with which to stab myself. Preferably a [sic] hari-kari knife. The round took over an hour. Karla invited me to go to her room that night. The hugs from Mom and Linda Parker (the reporter who was traveling with us to cover the event for the Kentucky Post, which was sponsoring my trip) do wonders. I got up there for the first round. The wait was interminable.
The relief was unbelievable when the first girl got out. She was in agony, at the mercy of the long, grabbing microphones. The relief didn’t last long. I was in agony now, waiting for my turn. I was at the mercy of the octopus of grabbing microphones and glaring lights. A disembodied voice said “ethos” and it was like what I imagine Judgment Day will be like. I asked for a definition and went into a daze. Somehow, I spelled it right and went back and fogged out in my seat. We went to Hardee’s. I had a really awful lunch. I was too keyed up to eat.
And so went the report filed by the aforementioned Ms. Parker to the Post later that afternoon:
ARACHIN. SACCHARIMETER. FEIJO. AND PHYLLOPHOROUS.
Those words, and others like them, claimed 59 spellers in the Scripps Howard National Spelling Bee Wednesday. Katie Kinsman, Kentucky Post champion, was among them.
But she turned in a championship performance.
“I’ve never seen her this nervous,” her mother, Dottie Kinsman of Fort Thomas, said Wednesday morning, before the 59th annual bee began. Her coach and father, Donald, was “so nervous he couldn’t watch,” said Katie. “He can never watch me in competitions.”
Under hot lights and through more than two hours of ceremonies and a practice round, the 13-year-old eighth grader from St. Thomas School sat on stage with 173 other spellers sponsored by newspapers across the country.
Finally, as speller no. 100, she got to spell her first official word: “ethos.”
No problem. Still, “I’m nervous the whole time,” she said after the first round Wednesday. She managed those nerves through a lunch break and another hour of sitting and listening, while spellers in front of her missed such words as “verricule” and “oceandromous.”
It was her turn.
“Fuh-LOFF-er-us,” said pronouncer Dr. Alex Cameron of the University of Dayton, Ohio. Katie asked for the definition, and was told it was an adjective meaning “leaf bearing.” She took a deep breath and spelled “filoferous.” The judges hit an old-fashioned desk bell, and Katie was escorted offstage to the “crying room.”
The initial disappointment was bitter, but Katie quickly demonstrated the maturity and sunny grace that have been her hallmarks during her Post-sponsored week in Washington.
“This is a bummer,” she said, brushing a few tears from her face. “I really wanted to make it to the fourth round.” She quickly squared her shoulders. “Okay. I guess I’m okay.” With her mother’s arm around her, Katie said, “Well, now I guess I don’t have to be nervous anymore . . . but I was kind of hoping I’d get one I knew . . . but I guess I should be proud I made it here . . . Okay now. I’m fine,” she said, jumping up and approaching the other spellers in the room.
“I know she’s dreading facing the gang at home,” her mother said. “But she’ll recover quickly. I’m just thrilled she was able to come here and have this experience. It broadens her and us.”
Within moments, Katie was back in the crowded hall, consoling other spellers who shared her fate and cheering on friends who still remained in competition . . .
Diary Entry: May 29, 1986
These kids are in sheer hell! You cry with them when they get out. You share their happiness when they triumph. Me especially. I was one of them yesterday. These words make no sense. The only time they are used is here. Why do we do this to ourselves?
If I’d let myself see me through the reporter’s eyes, I wonder if I could have spared myself the next few years of worrying that I was failing everyone, all the time, simply by existing. I wasn’t up there to win. I stood under those unforgiving klieg lights with my terrible perm, brace-faced grimace, and acid stomach for the express purpose of proving my worth, and I couldn’t. And now I had to go back and face everyone I’d let down.
Linda saw something else — the worth of a kid who could step past her own disappointment and cheer on someone who still needed it. But that’s not cool or cute when you’re thirteen. It doesn’t make your crush check “like” on a passed note, seat you at the popular table, or make your fake Jordache skirt hug your nonexistent curves just so. It makes you a loser — a word that wouldn’t have applied to you if you’d just stuck to the sidelines and never had the audacity to compete in the first place.
Hi, Anxiety: Life With a Bad Case of Nerves is available in hardcover, paperback, and ebook in stores and online: Amazon| Powell’s | Barnes & Noble | Books a Million | Indiebound | iBooks | Google Play
