Today I say the above thread on Twitter. It resonated with me on a deep level. I thought to myself about any times I’ve tried to tell someone about my accomplishments and, mostly, they’ve been met with responses I could only call muted. I don’t like to big note myself. I have always been surrounded by people who were better than me at pretty much anything. That’s part of the problem when you go to an academically selective high school, and compete to a high level in sport. There’s always someone better than you, and even if you come first this time, you probably won’t next time.
I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. This is what drives us to become better – as people and as a society. You being the best at something drives someone else to be even better. You are an inspiration, and that is a good thing. It is an important thing. But that’s not what this about. It’s not about being overtaken by someone more talented. It’s about what happens when you tell someone about your accomplishments, especially when many years have passed since you achieved them.
It took me a long time to realise that, essentially, people don’t care about what you’re proud of unless it helps them or makes them feel better. I teach gymnastics for a living but that’s not the sport I excelled at. And I use excelled with some trepidation. As a roller skater, I never thought I was all that good. I had fantastic coaches who had competed at world championships, I was never going to be that good. Even as a teenager, competing at a national level, I didn’t think I was any good because I had friends who were representing the country.
Then, I made it into a team to go to the world championships, but I still didn’t feel like I’d really made it as the events I was competing in were seen as lesser events because they were team events and not individual events. What should have been a crowning glory made me feel like I didn’t deserve to be there.
When I teach kids to skate, I tell them that I competed at a world level. It’s not so much for them, they’re just there to have a bit of fun. It’s for the adults in the room, because a qualification doesn’t mean much in sports. Parents want their kid to be taught by the best, and a national champion and national representative gives me credentials other coaches can’t claim. It doesn’t make me a better coach. It just sounds better.
That kind of self-praise is acceptable to society. It’s almost expected. But if you’re proud of something that is seen as not mattering, you’d better keep it to yourself. I’ve been writing poetry since I was a kid. I would have been about 13 when I wrote my first one. The teacher thought it was really good and praised me in front of the class. If I had stood up in class and said, “I’ve written a really good poem” I would have been ridiculed.
Ok, so that was high school, and people mature but still, as a society, we like to cut down tall poppies. We don’t like it when people think too much of themselves, even if it’s deserved. And when you get that reaction – that disdain – you second guess yourself, you think twice before saying anything, and you keep your pride under wraps because it’s ok to be proud of others, and it is ok to be proud of yourself, just don’t say anything.
In the tweet the author mentioned about “celebrating with the right crowd” and it would be so nice if we all knew which crowd we could express ourselves with before we did it and got shot down, especially in those formative years. Sometimes, the only one you can celebrate with is yourself.
It does get better as you get older. You find your crowd. But it’s still not always easy to say when you’re proud of something, just like it’s not easy to say when you’re upset about something. So, this is me saying I’m proud of what I’ve achieved in life. I’m proud of my sporting achievements. I’m proud of my university degree. And I’m proud of my writing. Because if I’m not, who else will be?
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