Do we ever grow out of embarrassment?
I haven’t, but a friend of mine made a good point this past week (other than to buy the cute-but-not-farm-friendly shoes).
I was telling her that I’ve never really freelanced, despite spending my adult working life as a reporter. I didn’t choose journalism, really, it chose me in a way when my history degree didn’t get me a museum job but I found a job as a reporter. I liked it, editors kept taking chances on me, and I built my skills.
Then I left the business, but I’ve started writing again for the local paper (where I had my first full-time reporting job, so I’ve got an in). Now I want to do more. The stumbling block is trying not to look like a complete idiot when pitching and negotiating.
We’re too old to be embarrassed, my friend said. If we want something, we have to go full bore to get it. There’s no time to be embarrassed.
True, very true, but I haven’t quite figured out how to do that.
I’ve learned how to laugh off the everybody-has-done-it kind of embarrassment, like the tucking-my-skirt-in-my-underwear-in-a-public-place embarrassment.
And I’m in the process of getting over the embarrassment of a messy house greeting surprise visitors.
But the kind of embarrassment that comes from showing a blemish in the gloss I try to make people believe is my life, well, that’s another beast entirely.
In terms of moving forward, both professionally and as a human being, though, I know I should follow my friend’s advice. So I am, sort of, kind of, at least I’m trying to, but dang it, it’s difficult to do.