Afraid to be Awesome

Sometimes, I am afraid to be awesome. Don’t mistake this for humility. I am, by all accounts, an extremely self-confident and even egotistical human being. But I have occasionally thought to myself, “Hold back a little bit, because you don’t want to make anybody feel bad.”

It has taken me years to understand that I can be happy for friends who do something well, even if I can’t do that thing well myself. And it has taken even longer for me to realize that my friends will feel the same for me. We all have different strengths, and there is no reason for anybody to feel bad because I can play “Oh, Susanna” on the harmonica, or fit my entire fist in my mouth.  I can’t do so many other awesome things that they can.  One of my favorite new epiphanies is that I love having talented friends. It doesn’t make me look worse by comparison. If somebody amazing wants to be my friend, I look way better!  

When I was in high school, my self-esteem was not quite so healthy. I still held back, but not because I was conscious of other’s needs. Largely, I was scared of being ridiculed. I was afraid of what people would say if I always had the answers, or always came in first. And even more than that, I was afraid of finding out that I wasn’t as smart as I thought. My solution: never challenge my talents and I could never be proven wrong.

Sophomore year I joined the track team so I could spend more time with my brother. He was the track star and my school was too small to kick me off the team. I practiced grudgingly and only ran races out of fear of the coach’s fury. My dad was a track star in high school and had been prepping me for days on strategies to win the upcoming region race. But when I found myself lined up for the 800-meter race, I was terrified. I knew I hadn’t put in the proper time, and I envisioned myself crossing the finish line in last place, my father’s face the picture of disappointment. “Poor dad, he has no idea how utterly hopeless I am.”

BANG! The starting gun exploded in my ears and my feet propelled me forward. I soon found that my racing speed was much faster than my training speed, and I worked my way up to third place. I turned to see my dad enthusiastically cheering from the sidelines, and I caught a rush of euphoria in my triumph.

“I am so amazing! I hardly trained and I’m going to qualify for state!” My sudden egotistical thought nearly literally stopped me in my tracks. “Wait a minute; if I come in one of the first seven slots, I have to compete at State.”

My mind started racing faster than my feet. “If I have to go to State, I will have to train a lot harder than I have been. And the coach will actually pay attention to me. I don’t think I want that.”

I was now rounding the corner at the 500-meter mark. I again saw my dad in the stands, on his feet, hands waving wildly. “He’s such a good dad. I hope he’s not disappointed when I come in last place.” My brain won the battle against my body. I slowed dramatically and lost my State-qualifying position by more than a little. My second lap was more than 20 seconds slower than my first. To an outside observer it would appear that I had simply over-exerted during my first lap. I was the only one who knew the truth: I was afraid. I was afraid of trying and failing.  But I was even more afraid of being amazing.

Marianne Williamson said, “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people will not feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone and as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same.”

In an alternate universe, awesome-Wendy would put her all into that race. She probably still wouldn’t win; she very well could have come in last place. She could have tripped over herself and puked at the finish line. In fact, I think that’s pretty darn likely. But every ounce of me wishes that she/I would have tried. I wish we hadn’t been afraid to be awesome.