The Privilege of Insecurity

I wasn’t gone for long. Less than two weeks. Eleven days to be exact. And yet, during my time in Finland (Lapland in particular), I experienced a calming sensation that has lasted until today.

I’m not totally sure exactly what caused this tranquility. Maybe it was the fact that I’d gone to the country expecting to meet people who came across as cold and hardly ever smiled, but was actually greeted by a population that was not only extremely welcoming and helpful, but also seemed genuinely interested in the answers we gave to their questions. Maybe it was the fact that there are more reindeer than there are people in Northern Lapland. Or maybe it was the fact that it was just too f*cking cold to be nervous about how I looked, sounded, or whether I was on the right career path.

And, believe me, I know how old this whole “Finland adventure” is getting old. I’m quite sick of hearing about it myself. But, for the sake of this blog post, I need to refer back to it in order to explain the sudden anxiety and suffocation that I felt tonight.

Let’s also call out one other aspect of my trip to the Nordic country. The only other humans that I had regular contact with were my parents—who are biologically programmed to love me—and who needed me for my ability to use Google maps.

So, the only real worries I had while in Finland were whether cross-country skiing would kill me, how to make it into the bathroom before my dad, and whether we actually had the keys in our pockets (because Finnish doors lock automatically).

I guess it makes sense, then, why I felt this calming acceptance of myself while in the snowy country.

But, I was surprised to discover that the feeling stayed with me when I returned to San Francisco. Even with the pressures of my company’s recent launch and a new weekly project reporting routine, I’ve felt calm and self-assured. Everything, in the big picture of things, is okay. Work hard. Enjoy life. Move along.

Even when I thought about this evening’s plan for a group movie night, I was really looking forward to it. These types of nights were something that I’d always loved about living in San Francisco. Where else would I get the opportunity to meet up with such a unique cast of characters to bond over a film that isn’t necessarily good or bad, but rather just something that totally turns you on your head and leaves you feeling a mood rather than leaving you with an opinion? We’re all critics and we all know that what we say just disappears from our mouths and into the glowing bulbs of the Alamo Drafthouse sign.

And I will say, in that way, tonight definitely delivered.

But, before and after we actually saw the movie (the movie was Beach Bum, by the way, in case you want to go see it. I do recommend it), there was time to chat with friends. Walking into the bar, Doc’s Clock, I could feel a sort of tickle at the back of my head. That familiar feeling of not knowing quite how I belonged in this group.

Ordering a drink, I sat down and looked around. Friends. Friends of friends. Strangers. I wished I had something to say, but I didn’t. Face to face with one of my closest friends, I found myself struggling to find something, anything that would be worthy of conversation.

I fell flat.

I was horrified as—in an attempt to say something—I spit out more stories about Finland and my time there. Enough already, right?!

Swiftly and easily, she picked up the ends of the conversation while also simultaneously holding chats with everyone else around her.

Trying to seem more social, I turned to a friend of a friend sitting next to me and asked about her life these days. I listened as she described her interest in editorial work for museums. She’s an art student and during her studies, she’s discovered an interest in writing as well. Now, looking for a job post-graduation, she wants something that will marry those skills.

Lamely, I offered recent social media marketing and content marketing positions I’d seen open on LinkedIn. It became quickly apparent, as she politely nodded, that she wasn’t looking to settle for something so far from the art world or from literary prowess.

Her steadfast mission to stay within the arts or actual literary work made me question my own life choices.

I’m in the editorial world, aren’t I?

Is what I do literary? Can I actually call myself a writer?

After the movie, I stood to the side and laughed as a friend’s comments flowed easily. I couldn’t help but feel a bit envious of how quickly she melded with a group of people she didn’t know that well.

As I waited for my Uber to arrive, removing myself from the rest of the night (eating tacos and more drinks), I was awed when another friend mentioned that she was writing a book.

“I’ve only got a few sentences down,” she said as a way to lower expectations, but I knew—as soon as she uttered the words ‘I’m writing a book’—that she would. And that she would write it and publish it far before I ever wrote and published one of my own. I also knew at once that it would be great. That it would be something that we (the readers) thought about long after we’d turned the last page.

She is, after all, one of the most unique thinkers that I’ve ever met. And one of the most “real” people when it counts. None of us knew Radiohead was going to be like that and she’s the only one to admit it.

Now this is when things go a bit dark.

Once in my Uber, my initial excitement for her project started to fade. A sudden, suffocating desire to beat her to the punch, publish my own book first, overwhelmed me. And then the doubts. I’ve never even come close to finishing a book and I’ve been trying to write one since I was thirteen years old. I’ve never made it all the way in a writing competition and none of my work was ever published in my school’s literary journal.

It doesn’t seem like I’m a very good writer at all (which, then, makes this blog kind of a bad idea, but I’ve already gotten this far, so why stop now?).

Not only that, but a painful need to be just as funny, as at ease, as memorable as my other friends who I’d just left filled me with a sickening anxiety and distress about who I was. Insecurity.

I don’t want to bore you all with the painfully dull thoughts that then filled my head about my lack of skills in the social, literary, and humor departments (let alone #sports, math, cooking, cleaning, science… the list goes on), but I can assure you they were there. Luckily, many of them were drowned out by my fellow passengers’ conversation about how odd it was that people pay for SoulCycle (I agree… when’s my next class, again?) and my driver’s personal rendition of a Boys II Men song.

And on that note, I think it’s time to lighten things back up.

At first, I was horrified by these thoughts and feelings. I’d just gotten back from Finland, remember? The world’s happiest country two years running. The snowy escape for all things magical. It’s home to Santa Claus, for god’s sake.

I wasn’t ready to feel jealousy, nervousness, or dissatisfaction with myself and my life. I wanted to feel happy, contented, self-assured.

But, as I sat there listening to the driver humming soulfully, I started really thinking about everything that I was feeling. Through the uncomfortable thoughts about how “lesser” I was than those I surrounded myself with, I realized something.

I realized how privileged I am to be able to feel subpar. To be able to feel unworthy of my friends because of how amazing they are.  To be able to want to strive because others are working on projects they’re interested in, passionate about, set on accomplishing. To not have to be the center of attention because they’re able to captivate with stories and jokes.

It is a privilege to feel insecure. No, it may not be the best feeling in the world, but I’m glad that I’m able to feel it. It allows me to strive and to grow stronger because of the strength around me. Not trying to sound too corny or anything, but it’s really amazing that there are this many intense, motivated, driven, hilarious people in the world and that they let me hang out with them—and even put up with my fears over a non-plot-driving kitten in the freaky movies that we decide to watch.

So there it is. My conclusion. I can’t stop myself from feeling insecure around other people, but I can certainly take a step back and recognize this as a privilege and opportunity.