As much as possible
I blush easily, and all my friends know this. Once I get going, it’s easy to goad me into flushing a deeper and deeper shade of red. The more I blush, the more embarrassed I get, and the more embarrassed I get, the more I blush. It can turn into quite a vicious circle sometimes.
These days, I can usually end my blush circle by laughing. Once I remember that I live in an absurd world and that I don’t have to take anything (including myself) that seriously, it’s usually pretty easy to laugh anything off. But I wasn’t always this way.
When I was younger, being embarrassed used to make me very angry. I still get angry when I make mistakes, but usually at myself, and usually briefly. We all experience this– messing up is frustrating. It can make you doubt yourself, and lose self-confidence. Sometimes there are other, more tangible consequences.
It’s pretty rare these days that I feel the rage I’m describing. It’s sort of like the anger you feel when you stub your toe; nothing is really wrong, and you’re going to be fine, but you might see red for just a little while.
This kind of anger goes in a circle, kind of like my blush circle, but not anywhere near as cute. In fact– it’s not cute at all, according to everyone I’ve ever asked. This is a sort of blind, aimless rage, which isn’t directed in anything in particular, but at the same time is directed both at myself at the whole world.
Frankly, it’s unpleasant; and it’s a huge waste of time.
I don’t have to feel this kind of anger and frustration when I make a mistake, and I really don’t have to just because I did something silly. I also don’t have to feel anxious, ashamed, guilty, afraid, or like I’m worth any less as a person. And neither do you.
Don’t worry– forgetting that it’s okay to be embarrassed is just another thing that it’s okay to be embarrassed about.
Once you make a mistake, the prospect of making another mistake becomes a lot less scary
When I first started pole dancing, I had no idea what I was doing. I was in a position where I needed a job that paid well, fast, so I skipped the step of learning how to dance and just headed on down to the first strip club that called me back.
I never wore makeup much before I started dancing, but I put some on because I figured I should– badly. I borrowed a lacy outfit from a friend of mine, and it was a little big on me. I felt pretty awkward just walking in the door.
The DJ put me on stage almost immediately. Completely clueless, and terrified that I was going to fall off of the pole, I glanced around at what the other dancers were doing and walked up to the stage.
What happened?
I made a fool of myself
I couldn’t do any of the elegant spins or acrobatic flips that the other women could do. I didn’t know any choreography for the floor, and I could barely walk in the six-inch heels that I had just bought that day. On my first night, I didn’t dance like a pole dancer- I danced like a girl trying her best not to fall on her face.
What else happened?
I got over my fear
I realized I could do it. I went up there, I looked silly, and other people watched me look silly, and the world didn’t end. I laughed. Other people laughed. Some of them clapped. We laughed and clapped together. I got naked! I even made money!
I looked silly, but I had a good attitude, and it was obvious that I was putting in an effort. The positive responses that I got, as a result, were enough to propel me forward. I kept putting that effort in, and now I’m learning how to dance for real.
The more you make public mistakes, the less you care about what other people think
There was a couple of years during which I pretty much stopped writing, and when I started again, I was awful, by anybody’s standards. I’m still no Hemingway, but reading some of the stuff I was writing when I first started again, I cringe pretty hard.
In addition to cringing, I also feel proud. I’m glad I showed people my angsty poems and sprawling, rambly essays. I had to get through that phase of mega-suck in order to get my sea legs back. I’m sure in a while I’ll look back at this article and cringe.
The true joy really is in the process, and I’m over worrying about where I’ll end up or how I’ll be received. I’m just going to keep writing.
Writing, like any other skill, is a muscle that you have to work out if you want it to stay strong. When I stop doing push-ups in the morning, after a week or two I realize that I can‘t do as many. If I became really inactive, I probably wouldn’t even be able to do one pushup.
Boy, that would be embarrassing…
You might be blushing because you’re doing something that you shouldn’t be. Maybe that joke was tasteless. Maybe you farted because you’re trying to cut out dairy and shouldn’t have been eating that cheese.
In these cases, embarrassment is an alarm system for the spirit, much like pain is for the body. If you skin your knee, it hurts; kind of the body’s way of saying, “don’t do that!”
If you feel humiliated, there might be a good reason why. If you let yourself feel it, you might be able to learn and grow from the experience.
While feeling mortified is part of how we humble ourselves and keep our egos in check, it’s also part of how we build confidence.
Being confident is a prerequisite to doing almost anything well. Every time you feel silly, and decide to do the thing you’re doing anyway, you grow stronger. When you’re used to having your confidence shaken, it begins to become unshakeable.
So don’t dance like nobody is watching. Dance like everybody is.
They’re all going to laugh at you– and that’s okay.
Originally published on medium.com on August 23rd, 2019
Esoteric Epistemology 