When I was little girl, I was paranoid that other people would see every little thing I did. What I wore mattered and the fact that my cartwheels were not perfect actually bothered me as I tumbled across our front yard. I remember helping my Dad to wash his car one day and he said;
“Shannon, you only think people are watching you. You’re going through a stage where you feel like you’re on display and everyone will take interest or critique what you do. They aren’t watching, because they are too busy worrying about the same thing; themselves.”
Although I didn’t record this epic conversation to quote it perfectly, that is what he said. He told me about when he was younger and how he thought that everyone had something to say about what he said or did; even strangers. He was right, I did go through that phase, but so was everyone else.
In high school, if I tripped on my own chucks, did I not feel the need to recover and look back at the floor like it assaulted me? I even see adults do that today. Who gave that floor the right to trip me? It must be a defense mechanism, in which we place blame on some inanimate object so we don’t look like a fool. So silly. So what if we trip up, who hasn’t? And will worrying about what people think of my slip-up make my life any better in the process? Certainly not.