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I kept reminding myself, as I sat in a room full of strangers a few weeks ago, getting ready to speak in front of them in a language I hadn’t studied or actively practiced since college, that I had chosen this.
Like many of us, I don’t enjoy awkward, anxiety-producing situations. I don’t like feeling foolish in front of other people. Despite that I have some learned-extrovert skills, I can tend to be shy in groups or with new people.
This situation was especially challenging for me because Spanish is a skill I used to be better at: I studied the language for about eight years, minored in it in college, and spoke it almost exclusively during a summer exchange program in Costa Rica when I lived with a family (and briefly dated a guy) who spoke no English. (We shared the universal language of love…. :p )
But also because I pride myself on my communication skills: My profession rests on a foundation of my precision and skill with language. Given how rusty I was with my Spanish, I knew I sounded remedial.
Yet regular readers may recall that lately I’ve been working to develop hobbies, and languages are something I have always deeply enjoyed. Joining a conversation group where for an hour and a half we would simply communicate with one another in a language I’d already (ostensibly) learned seemed like a logical place to start.
So there I sat, squirming.
Speak the Scary
Anytime we take a risk of extending ourselves, pushing our limitations, exposing our efforts in front of others, it can feel vulnerable. I don’t think I’m alone in wanting to seem—and feel!—confident and capable. To not look (or feel!) stupid or ridiculous.
For authors that applies when we first dare to announce that we’re pursuing our writing, when we allow other eyes on it, when we offer it up for critique or review, when we submit it for the judgment of agents and editors, when we launch it into the world for mass (hopefully!) consumption.
It applies when we talk about our work with others, whether that’s in casual encounters, marketing efforts, or public appearances.
As I sat feeling exposed and nervous in my Spanish class, a woman at the table across from me asked if it was my first time. When I said yes, she said, “It’s nerve-racking, isn’t it?” and told me she’d felt the same when she first started.
Instantly something in me relaxed. Just the simple act of sharing of what I was experiencing made me feel better. I was trying something new, stretching my abilities in an area where I wasn’t certain of my skills. I was doing it in front of other people: Studies have shown that 75 percent of people list public speaking among their top three fears—higher than death! Of course I was nervous. Denying it, suppressing it, or trying to push through it wouldn’t have been nearly as effective as that simple acknowledgment of my feelings.
Dare to speak the scary in your writing and career; you may be surprised to find out that, rather than escalating your fears or self-doubts or insecurities, it defuses them: “I’m afraid I don’t know what I’m talking about. That I won’t finish. That it won’t sell. That I’m a fraud.” Take it to ridiculous extremes; it lets you laugh and see how unfounded most of your fears are: “I’m scared that I will be publicly humiliated and pilloried, my books held up for ridicule, my career a cautionary tale for foolish young writers entering the business….” The more extreme, the better; it helps us see that as irrational and unfounded as those exaggerated fears are, so are our “ordinary” fears. They arise from cognitive distortions that aren’t necessarily based in reality.
But acknowledging those insecurities, according to psychologist Adam Grant, can also become a helpful part of your process and fuel your success. Part of me fears, every single time I create a new presentation or article or keynote speech, that I’ll drop the ball, or haven’t been thorough or deep enough, or I’m not offering anything new.
That insecurity always pushes me to more closely define my theories, premises, and intentions; dig deeper; overprepare—so that by the time I’m standing in front of a crowd or turning in my work for publication I feel confident and good about what I’m offering, and ready to handle anything that comes up. (Like when I wound up teaching a three-hour master class in the dark after a hurricane with no electricity, by a single emergency light. Nerve-racking? Oh, yes. But doable because I was prepared with my material and backup power for my computer.)
Speaking the scary in your writing and your career can also pinpoint areas where you may need to dedicate more attention. Give yourself permission to identify what you’re afraid of and you might find it allows you to recognize any problems or rough areas so you can fix them and offer your best efforts.
Share the Scary
Even more, though, the woman in my Spanish class made it seem okay, even normal to feel anxious and vulnerable, and gave me a sense of solidarity. Suddenly I wasn’t completely on my own in a roomful of strangers; I had an ally, one who knew what I was experiencing and had been there.
Some of the most commonly shared advice in writing is to find a writing community, and this is no small part of the reason why. All those irrational, daunting fears that bedevil you and make you fear you may be inadequate? Pretty much every other writer (every other human, if we’re all being honest) has felt that too.
It’s a healthier (and less creepy) version of picturing people in their underwear: It humanizes others, reminds us that we all feel vulnerable or overwhelmed or insecure at times. In a business full of reasons to feel self-doubt, sharing those experiences creates a sense of unity and support.
Do the Scary
My first night in Spanish class, as we all took turns answering questions aloud from a deck of conversational prompts (in Spanish, of course), I learned a new word: fallar. It means “to fail,” and the prompt was, “Do you think you learn more from succeeding or from failing?”
I knew the answer, of course. I think we all do. Failing is how you grow. I had to take the risk of just letting myself speak—floundering for what I was trying to say, conjugating verbs wrong, misusing words and potentially sounding like a not-especially-bright third grader—or I’d never have the chance to improve my skills.
Read more: “Failure IS an Option”
I’ve been in the class for a month now, and it’s humbling to realize how much I’ve forgotten or still have to learn. It’s frustrating not to be able to express myself as fully and eloquently as I feel I can easily do in my own language. I still feel nervous every time I go.
But I keep at it, and I keep going. I persist in trying to push myself to speak as freely as possible without worrying too much if I’m doing it perfectly, or even “right.” (Oh, how the perfectionism demon and I dance in this class!) Some weeks I manage to quit worrying about all my own insecurities and nerves and even feel the first flickering sparks of something like comfort or confidence.
I know a lot of the other people in class now, and we’re all struggling, at various levels, to push past our limitations. We’re all showing our vulnerabilities in allowing ourselves to try something together that none of us are fully adept at. It feels like a supportive, helpful group of friends, and it makes it fun—and safe—to try to communicate in a language that none of us natively speak…even when we fallar.
Read more: “What It Means to Persist (Or, POV Still Sucks)”
As much as I want to achieve my goal—to be fluent in Spanish—I realize that what I’m really enjoying is that process. Yes, once I’m more at ease with the language I’ll be able to converse easily and freely with anyone. But will that be better, or more fun, or more communal and connected than the experience I’m having on the road to that objective: meeting new people, working at something together, enjoying practicing and growing our skills, and stretching myself?
Somehow I don’t think so.
What about you, authors—besides writing, when have you tried learning something new that pushed you well outside your comfort zone, and how did you overcome the inner obstacles of fear and doubt? Thinking back on it, how did the process of learning the skill compare to the experience of having mastered it? What do you wish you’d known then that you know now—or what did you do or learn then that might apply to your writing career?
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18 Comments. Leave new
Go you! What a fabulously inspirational story!
Well, it was just a language class, but it FELT monumental that first time! 😀 Thanks, Syl.
Your capacity to relate analogies between writing and the broader experiences of life never fail to impress! I too am learning Spanish, spending a good amount of time in lovely Costa Rica, but have never spoken the language before (it helps that the locals are unfailingly patient with my clumsy attempts). But I also cheat – I take two online classes per week, looking to jump-start my proficiency, same as a person hires an editor as a coach and guide as part of an overall learning strategy.
Thank you again, Tiffany, for your insights, wisdom and encouragement. Pura Vida!
Pura vida indeed! I loved Costa Rica–not least for its people–and have always wanted to go back. I don’t think taking classes is cheating–it’s a good way to brush up on your skills and make sure you’re laying a good, grammatically correct foundation. 🙂 I have some Spanish textbooks I consult between my classes and keep a vocabulary list in class so I can keep building my knowledge in between our meetings. Thanks for the kind words, Pat.
I never studied Spanish in school but for years attempted to pick it up from a shelf full of grammar books. Didn’t work. Then I came across Dreaming Spanish, where instructors speak at a variety of paces to suit one’s level of ignorance. They claim it’s the most natural (and quickest) way to acquire conversational ability. It seems to be working for me, and it’s fun. Buena suerte!
Thanks for the suggestion, Bill! I’ve been listening to the Duolingo Spanish podcast–it’s for intermediate learners and features a story told half in Spanish and supplemented in English, and I’m finding that very helpful. I expect I’ll enjoy Dreaming Spanish too. If I can quit drilling down so hard and trying to do it “right”–just let go and speak or listen–I find I do much better. Not perfect, but much more fluid. Unclench, my new motto. 🙂
I also spent time in CR with a volunteer program in the 90’s – lived with a family for a year. I had 8 years of Spanish under my belt but boy, I did not know the colloquialisms or the fast pace and accent of the rural area where I was stationed. It initially brought me to tears! I was teaching first graders and it felt like my Spanish was right at their level. Eventually the accent and understanding of my family and students came but I don’t think I ever surpassed an 8th grade level! (or feeling like it) When I returned to the States, speaking English again made me feel like an opera singer wielding a finely tuned gift – I’d never had that perspective. Not sure if that makes sense but it felt so good!
Thanks for sharing, Tiffany. I’ll see you at Erma !
The colloquialisms and the sheer speed! Yes, that’s where I get tripped up too–I’ll think I’m doing well and then will talk to a native speaker and it’s SO FAST. My poor brain is sprinting behind my comprehension. I do remember, though, when I was in Costa Rica and also in Spain, that the more I was surrounded by it and just relaxed into it, it was almost as if there was a “click” of understanding and it all suddenly made sense. So that’s why I keep going to class–I’ll never get to the click if I don’t try to immerse myself whenever I can.
I SO get your opera singer analogy. You don’t realize how the frustration compounds at not being able to fully express yourself until you can again. It’s like letting out a held breath. 🙂 Thanks for the comment, Tracy. See you at Erma! (Make sure to find me and say hi.)
Oh boy, I’ve learn to be a master at this, Tiffany. I’m married a motorcycle.-crazed Texan. I rode behind him for 100,000 miles until we had an accident. I blew out my knee and recovery took six months. After that, I was terrified to be on the motorcycle. A dear friend offered to take the motorcycle safety course with me. I told her, I do not want to learn to be in the front seat on a motorcycle. She told me that was fine, but I might feel less afraid if I knew how to do it. We took that course, and I never looked back. I wanted to ride my own. My husband bought me a small one, and I white knuckle it for an entire year scared, every time I got on the bike.
But you know what? It made me question everything I believed. If I didn’t think I could do this, and it turned out I could, what else that I said no to that I really could accomplish? It changed my life.
Embrace the fear!
Laura, you fly-fishing, motorcycle-riding badass. You always impress me. Your accident sounds really frightening, but I love how you just went right into the teeth of it (this is a particular scary I cannot face). But I did experience something similar after a car wreck many years ago. I had my brother test-drive all the cars I was looking to replace my totaled vehicle with, because I was too afraid to get behind the wheel. But of course I did eventually. You probably have to walk face-first into those types of fears, as you did, or they will hold you back forever. Love that you took that lesson from it so viscerally.
I became a yoga teacher after 20 years in the military. A definite introvert by nature, I had found a way to flip a switch and easily talk to people while I was in uniform–“in character,” so to speak–but it was so difficult to do that once I retired. As the teacher of the yoga classroom, I quickly realized I needed to access that same skill. It’s my job to put people at ease in our practice, even if my natural preference is to quietly stand on the edge of any gathering. Lately, I’ve been trying to take the same approach when talking about writing. I take writing seriously, but I have a hard time talking about it, so I’ve been actively seeking ways to discuss it face-to-face and feel confident in what I say. I’m a work in progress, just like my manuscripts!
I love that your fear, like mine, is one of those everyday ones that seem like they shouldn’t be that scary, but they can be, depending on our personalities. Like you, I often use that device of playing a role–“fake it till you make it.” Almost inevitably when I do, intention follows action: I find myself relaxing if I pretend I’m relaxed. I read a long time ago about a study that showed that smiling–even if it didn’t match what you were feeling–measurably lifted people’s moods. I try to remember that now in moments like this. And yes, we have to remember to show ourselves grace, as you do with your “work in progress” reminder to yourself. That self-compassion is such a key ingredient in navigating more difficult feelings like fear. Thanks for sharing, Holly!
A very thought-provoking post today, Tiffany. You said “besides writing,” but my professional training and experience is science and engineering. Writing is entirely outside my comfort zone and I feel, every time I put words to paper, like you in Spanish class. A few things come to mind. My first boss at Bell Laboratories told me, not long after I joined, that “if you’re not making any mistakes, you’re not doing anything.” He had been there his whole career. But his achievements helped us get to where we can now download entire movies in seconds at home. So, I just go by Davy Crockett’s motto, “Be sure you’re right and then go ahead.” If it’s wrong, no hard feelings. Just go ahead again. I try to learn as much as possible from your posts and courses and put my writing out there to writing groups, then take my lumps.
The one other thing I learned late in life, unfortunately, is that fear and doubt can also have roots in brain chemistry. Knowing that helps me overcome those feelings. Fear and doubt are often more apparent than real. Thanks so much for your post today!
You’re right, Jeff–writing itself can be so intimidating, especially if you are coming from such a different field. I have helped my nieces/nephews and others, who don’t think of themselves as good at writing, write essays by just talking to them about the subjects. So often people seem to feel intimidated and freeze up at committing words to paper (especially if you’re telling yourself you’re not good at it). Talking it through conversationally excavates their ideas about the subject, and then we turn that into natural-sounding, organic writing. I love watching people light up at seeing how good their writing can be when they move past those fears.
Your Bell Labs boss’s advice is solid–a hard one for me (perfectionism demons), but a lesson I keep working to internalize. Cognitive behavioral therapy has helped that a lot–as you say, the fears are often based in distorted or irrational beliefs and assumptions. Thanks for the comment!
LOL — you prompted me to go find the words for failure and to fail in French! I knew to miss, to fall, defeat, but not those two!
I know, I was surprised I didn’t know it in Spanish either!
Great post.
We all start as rookies; most of us make rookie mistakes, and as rookies, that anxiety can help us tap into that extra bit of energy (adrenaline) that brings us to our best, even with the mistakes. I read somewhere that without that adrenaline, (which we learn to manage), the moment can arrive without the spur.
The anxiety arises from self-consciousness. When I get that awful feeling, I ask myself, what am I doin’ here, what am I trying to accomplish, and shift my focus, in the case of speaking, to what I want to communicate. If I can focus on that, self-consciousness gets squeezed out; there’s no room for it.
If you’ve ever been at a presentation with a truly awful presenter, you know how painful it is to sit through a bad one. It can be more painful to the audience than to the speaker. Your audience wants and needs you to succeed, so they are with you, not ag’in ya’.
One thing that’s helped me, and I learned this from a colleague, is to ask myself, “How can I help these people?” When that’s what I’m trying to do, there’s no space left for self-consciousness. (And when I’ve done my best, I can tell myself that I was also very brave.)
I’ve been reading/hearing a lot of research about exactly what you point out, Bob–that our anxieties serve a purpose and can be harnessed to help fuel us. I heard one researcher say they think of anxiety as excitement and enthusiasm (adrenaline, as you say), a little mind shift that helps them embrace rather than try to suppress their anxiety and nerves, and use them to access more energy or focus. That helps me too.
That self-consciousness you mention can hamstring us when it takes over. I’ve gotten better at shifting that mindset too–again, very similar to what you describe: I focus on what I want to share, my enthusiasm for that subject, rather than my own execution of it or how it’s coming across or what people think. It’s transformative, when I can do it–which fortunately these days is most of the time, thanks to deliberate effort to shift my perspective in that way (but not always!). :p On the occasions things go less well, like you I try to remember to be compassionate with myself–everybody stumbles–and (once the sting subsides) take it as a chance to learn and improve.
We are so hard on ourselves, in a way we rarely are with others. I told a story in a recent presentation about a docent at a local museum last weekend who led a group that a friend and I were part of through the exhibit, and she was so uncertain, faltering, self-conscious, that it robbed her otherwise genuinely useful info of impact and effectiveness. People wandered away until it was just the two of us left with her, and I wanted to hug her and help her relax and enjoy what she was doing, share the knowledge and enthusiasm she clearly had. If we approached our own falters that way we might have an easier time of things!
Thanks for sharing this compassionate take and insight, Bob.