One of the advanced-level skills that I have is that I can remember embarrassing things I’ve done years ago with a level of detail that would make historians jealous. I remember all the conversations I should have ended differently, awkward waves to people who weren’t looking at me, and the sentences that sounded perfectly normal in my head but somehow came out sounding like I had forgotten how human interaction works.
My brain has an unfortunate habit of bringing up these memories at the most inconvenient times– whether I’m trying to fall asleep or simply having a perfectly pleasant day that apparently needs to be ruined by something I said five years ago. If overthinking were a paid profession, I’d be financially independent by now.
But why are we so afraid of embarrassing ourselves in the first place? Think about how much of our lives is spent trying not to look foolish. We’ve rehearsed conversations before having them, hesitated before raising our hands in class, and sometimes abandoned perfectly good ideas because we’re worried someone might think they’re stupid. We’ve somehow turned existing into a performance, with an imaginary audience observing our every move and waiting for us to make a mistake.
The irony is that most people are probably too busy worrying about themselves to pay that much attention to us. Psychologists call this the ‘Spotlight Effect’ – our tendency to overestimate how much other people notice and remember our behaviour. We’re the protagonists of our own lives, but we’re usually supporting characters in everyone else’s. The person who witnessed you trip over absolutely nothing on campus probably forgot about it five minutes later. Meanwhile, you’ve mentally relocated, changed your name, and considered never returning to that building.
Somewhere along the way, we’ve also become obsessed with appearing effortlessly cool. Being enthusiastic is embarrassing, dancing without knowing the choreography is cringe, and expressing excitement about something a little too openly seems to require a public apology. We’ve become so preoccupied with how things look that we’ve forgotten to enjoy them. Personally, I think there’s something wonderful about people who aren’t afraid to be a little ridiculous: the friend who sings loudly despite having absolutely no business pursuing a musical career, the person who dances like nobody is watching even when everybody very clearly is, and the girl in my class who wears an outfit she loves without conducting a public opinion poll first. There’s something incredibly refreshing about people who aren’t constantly editing themselves for public consumption.
There’s a certain freedom in allowing yourself to enjoy things without needing to be good at them or validated afterwards. Not everything needs to be Instagram-worthy, and not every hobby needs to become a side hustle. You can be terrible at karaoke, attempt a dance trend and look like you’re fighting invisible mosquitoes, or try a new sport without immediately developing the coordination of a professional athlete. Sometimes you can simply be bad at something and have a good time doing it. After all, nobody becomes confident at public speaking without stumbling over their words, and nobody learns to do anything without looking slightly ridiculous at first. Yet we often expect ourselves to skip the uncomfortable beginning and arrive directly at the impressive ending.
I think one of the biggest reasons we avoid embarrassing ourselves is that we don’t want people to see us trying. There’s something particularly uncomfortable about being a beginner. You don’t know what you’re doing, you make mistakes, you ask questions that might seem obvious, and occasionally you look like you have absolutely no idea why you signed up in the first place. But isn’t that how almost everything begins?
Imagine all the experiences we miss because we don’t want to look silly for five minutes. I’d much rather be the person who tried and looked ridiculous than the person who spent years wondering what might have happened.
I don’t think I’ll ever become completely immune to embarrassment, and I’ll probably continue replaying awkward conversations in the shower and occasionally wishing the ground would swallow me whole. But perhaps the goal isn’t to stop feeling embarrassed altogether. Perhaps it’s to stop letting that feeling make decisions for us.
It’s time to just raise your hand even when you’re unsure of the answer, wear the outfit you’ve been saving, make the first move, dance at the party, and try something you’re terrible at. Life is already too short to spend it constantly monitoring how you appear to other people. There are places to explore, people to meet, things to try, and far too many experiences waiting to be had. I’d hate to look back one day and realise that I spent so much time trying not to look foolish that I forgot to actually have fun.
So here’s to being a little awkward, a little loud, occasionally ridiculous and wonderfully imperfect, and here’s to embarrassing ourselves a little more often. After all, I’d rather have a list of embarrassing stories to tell than a lifetime of things I was too afraid to do.