An Embarrassing Truth
I’m two beers deep — okay, three.
I deserve them though. I’ve launched myself way out of my comfort zone, and landed somewhere in Wyoming. Perched atop a flatbed truck-turned-stage — complete with glittering café lights. I’m up here surveying the audience. There are quite a few people. They’re seated primly on picnic benches, or sprawled out on grass. They clutch pints of beer, and stare right back at me.
I strum a few chords on my banjo — it’s been a while since I’ve done this — clear my throat, and let loose.
A few hours later I’m at home, still buzzing from adrenaline and whatever’s left of the booze. I decide to share a picture of myself in all my glory on Instagram — indeed, a somewhat proud moment. Getting on stage to sing and play an instrument when you’re an antisocial introvert isn’t nothing.
The next morning, as I try and muster the energy to rise — counteract the out of character late night drinks with strong black coffee — I casually check Instagram.
There it is.
Glaring, obvious: I messed up.
In a description of the picture posted, I’d intended to use the word “faze.” However, I’d slipped; written “phase” instead. I can tell by the likes and comments people have seen it — no one’s mentioned my faux pas — which in my mind is a colossal mistake because “writer” is there, front and center in my bio.
Here’s where it gets interesting.
‘Old me,’ would have felt the familiar heat, that flooding rush of humiliation: Here I am, claiming to be a writer and mixing up homophones! How embarrassing. Such a worthless idiot!
I would have carried that shame around all day. I’d have fretted over it. Beat myself up. Poured through who “liked” the picture, and contemplated their grasp of the English language. For example, if it was “liked” by a real-life friend, I’d have mulled over our text correspondence. Do they text “your” when they mean “you’re?” Do they have a big enough of a grasp on the finer points of English to notice… or care?
If they fell into the “your” camp, I’d have breathed a sigh of relief. The others though. I’d have picked everything apart trying to figure out how to save face, how to live it down.
I’d have maybe (probably!) posted some big statement acknowledging my mistake, a desperate ploy to show everyone, I’m not dumb! Please! Don’t think less of me. Please, I beg of thee!
Instead, ‘new me’ fixes it. Then I let it go.
Who cares, right?
Mistakes happen, and I can’t be the only one who felt worthless and dumb whenever I committed a blunder.
It’s taken way too long to understand: errors have no affect over our inherent worth as a human being.
Being so hyper vigilant; always wanting to appear smart, likable, and all that jazz not only held me back, it exhausted me. I sacrificed myself and my needs, and got lost drowning in the fruitless pursuit of not only being accepted, but held to some sort of “esteem” by others. All due in part to a fragile ego.
For way too long I put so much emphasis on people thinking highly of me, and totally neglected the importance of leaning into being an authentic person. A person who makes mistakes, acknowledges and fixes them — no big deal — and moves on.
Letting it go without getting all worked up is proof that all the introspection and ‘healing’ is actually sinking in.
Freedom exists in so many ways. The more I genuinely unshackle myself from needing others to think I’m smart, worry about judgement or need their validation, the freer and more liberated I become.
To allow yourself to make silly inconsequential mistake publicly and hold it, without making a big fuss even though others may think you’re dumb?
If that’s not self-love, I don’t know what is.
