I’m curious by nature. It’s one of my favorite things about myself, actually. I love to learn things, no matter how random. Ex-cult stories, niche scientific trivia, why orcas seem to be forming an alliance against humans—you name it, I am very interested. It has led me to experience a million types of jobs, dates, concerts, and countries, all of which I am grateful for.
Curiosity is a beautiful, expansive thing, but I think as someone who was an incredibly curious child in a "speak only when you’re spoken to" culture, my understanding of genuine confidence became somewhat skewed. I was a little sponge surrounded by lots of boisterous, black-and-white thinkers who had even louder voices. There was a clear answer for everything. Yes, everything. So I absorbed all they had to say quickly and understood that the loudest people in the room have the most power. They are the ones who know what they’re talking about. If you’re not speaking, it’s because you don’t know, and not knowing might just be the worst thing ever.
My understanding of confidence was shaken, and this neat-and-tidy, binary approach to the world started falling apart as I dusted off the messy corners of places, thoughts, and people I dared not explore before. It was scary, but it turns out that it was the good kind of scary. I learned that the more I approached the world with an open heart and mind, the more willing I was to be molded by what I found.
It’s then that I realized that curiosity might be fake confidence’s worst enemy and true confidence’s greatest ally. Some days, my questions far outnumbered my answers, but my sense of self remained intact. It seemed to be an odd experience for someone who understood confidence to be synonymous with knowing all the answers. Nevertheless, “I don’t know” became a more and more comfortable part of my conversation and my ethos, and what I always feared as a dead giveaway that I was the least secure person in the room turned out to be the very thing that grew my certainty in who I am and what I have to offer—my true confidence.
True confidence is quiet, and I also find that it can be quite elusive. It needs to be nurtured and maintained. It’s like a little houseplant that needs to be watered. When mine is at its peak, I own my story. I can share my perspective, unfiltered, without any disclaimers. I can even leave space for myself to change my mind in the future. When my confidence has gone by the wayside, like a magnet, I’m sucked back into the familiar feeling of those loud voices—nodding along, doing mental gymnastics, and hopping onto their view of the world for the sake of their own comfort. I’m hoping and praying that I passed some metaphorical test of being just enough, never too much, at all the right times, and exactly as they’d hoped. But, when you’re just right for everyone else, you’re never right within yourself.
I find that true confidence can make people really damn uncomfortable, especially when someone is not willing to opt into a worldview that leaves no room for gray areas. But in an effort to bolster my own confidence, I am doing my best to prioritize my own peace, even if it makes someone else uncomfortable (please remember that my being a people-pleaser is the whole premise of this entire newsletter!). As someone who loves hearing and learning from the perspectives of others, it’s time I pay myself the same amount of respect, even if my grand opinion is "I don’t know."
Practically speaking, one way I’m doing this is by not placing too many limiting descriptors on myself. Living in Barcelona, I meet new people every single day, so I’m elevator-pitching myself constantly. Hi! I’m Sawyer. I’m a freelance copywriter. I have lived here for four years. I’m a Gemini. I don’t like popcorn. I can’t ride a bike. I love rescue animals. I’m not planning to move. I don’t date short kings. How I speak about myself matters so much more than how someone else does. Because honestly, am I really going to learn how to ride a bike when I am constantly saying that I can’t? Probably not. So, I’m putting my energy toward my own words above the words of others, and I’m staying open to the possibility that there may be a short king out there who would turn my head.
I heard a quote recently that perfectly sums up how I’d like to move through this world, so I’ll end with that.
"Some people throw dirt on my name; others bring flowers. It’s all a garden to me."
If you’ve made it this far, you’re a real one. The fact that you read my writing means the world to me. “Are you mad at me?” is a free publication, but, let’s be honest, I’m a working gal! If you’re so inclined to show the love via a pledge or paid subscription, I’ll name my firstborn after you.