I Can Do This
The second of my three goal words for 2009: self-trust. This one is very tricky to get right. Go overboard on self-trust and you're cocky (ugh!). Too little and you never get anywhere. Just the right amount, and you have can-do-ology and destuckification galore. (Oooh, galore">galore--there's a yummy word for you!)
When I first started copyediting, I felt like the great impostor. There I was, li'l ol' me, with my not-so-impressive BA in English, editing the writing (which bears a remarkable resemblance to "correcting" papers!) of professors and PhDs. Very intimidating. It helped that I had other newbie copyeditors to compare notes with. They also suffered from the impostor syndrome. We agreed that we just had to trust ourselves.
After twelve years as a copyeditor, I should have this down. Well, I do, when I'm copyediting. I've achieved a good balance there. I look up everything there's any question about. I know how good my memory is and how good it isn't. I know to what extent I can reliably trust myself. So I look up a lot of stuff, just to be sure, and I know that my patience and my willingness to look stuff up that I've looked up many times before make me a better copyeditor. See? It's a balance. Trust yourself, but not too much.
My inclination is toward self-doubt. I was the youngest in my family, with enough age difference between me and my sibs that I was forever longing to be one of them but never quite able to keep up.
I remember a vacation we took when I was little, where we were camping near a river that had some very cool big climbing rocks in it. I stood on the riverbank and watched my brothers and sister clambering on the rocks. I wanted to join them soooo bad, but I had to stay on the shore, because my mom said I was too little. It nearly killed me to have to just stand there. I still long to play on those rocks.
In fact, that's how I've come to view copyediting. Standing on the shore, cheering, while the big kids get to play. Pooey! I'm going in there and I'm going to play on those damn rocks!
The trick is to overcome the self-doubt inclination. Having achieved the somewhat ripe, if not old, age of 52, I have seen something of life. That's not to say that I don't still have plenty to learn. Nevertheless, I've been around my own block a time or two anyway.
I did the hard work of psychotherapy for seven years. I was brave and honest and recovered from a not-always-wonderful childhood. I left the land of the walking wounded and arrived at last in the land of the functional. I learned to embrace being single and relished having only myself to please (until Tom showed up and shook up my universe. Yay!). Harder still, I have learned to love my body and embrace my difference, even when others are horrified by my refusal to apologize for my size.
I've read a lot, thought a lot, read some more, lived some more. I've learned to identify with two marginalized groups, one my own (fat folks) and the other not my own (Latinos). I'm articulate and funny, kind and compassionate. In other words, there's plenty to trust. (Can you tell that I'm talking to myself now? I'm not trying to convince you of anything. I'm trying to convince me. Is it working? Yeah, I think so. Especially if I keep talking to myself like this.)
I married a wonderful man, a man whose judgment I trust implicitly. I've learned that when I'm all twisted up and don't know whether I'm coming or going, I can trust Tom to help me figure it out. No one can change my mind faster than Tom can. When I'm feeling dizzy or dismayed or overwhelmed, I check in with Tom. He can set me straight in a hurry. (And he can make me laugh. Excellent features in a mate.)
Oddly enough, I'm learning more or less the same thing about myself, especially in terms of this writing adventure. I find that the more I trust myself, the better my writing is. Huh. Whooda thunk it? I find myself going over all the copyediting I've done, the reading I've done, toting up my qualifications on my fingers. I know where the commas go (tee-hee!). I know where they don't go (even better). I even know where the hyphens go. I know about punch and word choice and the music and flow of language and all kinds of arcane verbivore goodies.
But still I keep repeating to myself, I can do this. I can. Really. I can. I know that voice is answering another one, a softer one, that keeps asking, What the hell? One more time, repeat after me, I can do this.
When I first started copyediting, I felt like the great impostor. There I was, li'l ol' me, with my not-so-impressive BA in English, editing the writing (which bears a remarkable resemblance to "correcting" papers!) of professors and PhDs. Very intimidating. It helped that I had other newbie copyeditors to compare notes with. They also suffered from the impostor syndrome. We agreed that we just had to trust ourselves.
After twelve years as a copyeditor, I should have this down. Well, I do, when I'm copyediting. I've achieved a good balance there. I look up everything there's any question about. I know how good my memory is and how good it isn't. I know to what extent I can reliably trust myself. So I look up a lot of stuff, just to be sure, and I know that my patience and my willingness to look stuff up that I've looked up many times before make me a better copyeditor. See? It's a balance. Trust yourself, but not too much.
My inclination is toward self-doubt. I was the youngest in my family, with enough age difference between me and my sibs that I was forever longing to be one of them but never quite able to keep up.
I remember a vacation we took when I was little, where we were camping near a river that had some very cool big climbing rocks in it. I stood on the riverbank and watched my brothers and sister clambering on the rocks. I wanted to join them soooo bad, but I had to stay on the shore, because my mom said I was too little. It nearly killed me to have to just stand there. I still long to play on those rocks.
In fact, that's how I've come to view copyediting. Standing on the shore, cheering, while the big kids get to play. Pooey! I'm going in there and I'm going to play on those damn rocks!
The trick is to overcome the self-doubt inclination. Having achieved the somewhat ripe, if not old, age of 52, I have seen something of life. That's not to say that I don't still have plenty to learn. Nevertheless, I've been around my own block a time or two anyway.
I did the hard work of psychotherapy for seven years. I was brave and honest and recovered from a not-always-wonderful childhood. I left the land of the walking wounded and arrived at last in the land of the functional. I learned to embrace being single and relished having only myself to please (until Tom showed up and shook up my universe. Yay!). Harder still, I have learned to love my body and embrace my difference, even when others are horrified by my refusal to apologize for my size.
I've read a lot, thought a lot, read some more, lived some more. I've learned to identify with two marginalized groups, one my own (fat folks) and the other not my own (Latinos). I'm articulate and funny, kind and compassionate. In other words, there's plenty to trust. (Can you tell that I'm talking to myself now? I'm not trying to convince you of anything. I'm trying to convince me. Is it working? Yeah, I think so. Especially if I keep talking to myself like this.)
I married a wonderful man, a man whose judgment I trust implicitly. I've learned that when I'm all twisted up and don't know whether I'm coming or going, I can trust Tom to help me figure it out. No one can change my mind faster than Tom can. When I'm feeling dizzy or dismayed or overwhelmed, I check in with Tom. He can set me straight in a hurry. (And he can make me laugh. Excellent features in a mate.)
Oddly enough, I'm learning more or less the same thing about myself, especially in terms of this writing adventure. I find that the more I trust myself, the better my writing is. Huh. Whooda thunk it? I find myself going over all the copyediting I've done, the reading I've done, toting up my qualifications on my fingers. I know where the commas go (tee-hee!). I know where they don't go (even better). I even know where the hyphens go. I know about punch and word choice and the music and flow of language and all kinds of arcane verbivore goodies.
But still I keep repeating to myself, I can do this. I can. Really. I can. I know that voice is answering another one, a softer one, that keeps asking, What the hell? One more time, repeat after me, I can do this.