I ask a lot about confidence. Maybe it’s because graduation is closing in, and none of us really know what happens next. And with that verge of uncertainty (something creative for a living, dear writing gods and muses, writing something hopefully or filming or making an idea come to life with all the fire and flair of a beautiful ember that grows into a star itself that rivals the sun).
But this is about confidence and how, once upon a time, someone told me it could be faked.
I think about that every time before I pick up a microphone, take the stage, sing a song too loudly in a crowded room full of dancing young people. I think about it before every performance, every speech, every class presentation full of strangers I don’t know quite yet. I think about it a lot.
How confidence can be faked.
It affects us all differently, doesn’t it? Ranging upon an intersectional spectrum of race, gender, sexuality, ableism and all the above and more.
Confidence, what a tiny word that makes a world of difference.
I want to be confident. I think about it every day. How it can be faked like a glittering illusion.
Give me the glitter, and I’ll give you confidence.
… or I’ll keep trying until I learn how.