Ego Boost
At the shops today when the girl at Boost asks for my name I say, ‘Myf’. She gives me a blank look. ‘Myf,’ I repeat, ‘short for Myfanwy.’
While I wait for my Mega Berry Blast ingredients to be pulverised, I scan the immediate area for familiar faces. It’s bound to happen. Just as the beautiful Welsh name is about to roll off the Boost girl’s tongue when she hands me my juice, a long-lost cousin will suddenly emerge from a shop and call out, ‘CAROLE!’
But no one does and I’m saved from shame and embarrassment. ‘Myf,’ calls the girl, and not even one head turns as I take my drink.
‘No ice,’ I’d said, so I drink it straight down at a nearby table. I notice there’s a classy-looking woman drinking coffee at the table opposite. I’m thirsty, and when I get down to the bottom, it’s very disappointing. I know there’s still a little bit left, but only obtainable with a fair amount of noise. Myf, I decide, isn’t the type to consider the sensibilities of others, so, vacuum cleaner-style, I guide the straw around and slurp up every last drop, making sure I meet the gaze of the woman when she looks up.
When the girl at the Apple shop says, no,we don’t sell mouse pads, Myf can’t believe a computer shop could fail to stock such an essential item. After she mentions this, the other assistant immediately offers to look out the back – might even be a free one, he says. There are none left, but Myf thanks him anyway...
It all started in Borders.
Someone had done what you sometimes see at the supermarket – stuffed a packet of sausages in amongst the icing sugar – except it was Overcoming Shyness: twenty-seven whacky ways to bring out the extrovert in you (or something like that) sitting by itself alongside the pencil cases. A quick flick through and I was hooked. Myf emerged like a genie.
When I was a teenager I was so shy I couldn’t even walk properly; I was so self-conscious, I felt like the caterpillar in the poem at the top of this page. Words, when I was brave enough to speak up in a group, fumbled their way out of my mouth like cherry pips, usually in the wrong order. School reports were always stamped with: needs to participate more in class.
Being shy is like being locked in a prison. When it’s coupled with low self esteem, it’s like being shackled in a dungeon. Blue sky and the world of opportunity can only be glimpsed through a crack in the ceiling.
For a time I raged both at the unfairness of being robbed by my shyness – of missed opportunities, relationships, fun and adventure – and the years spent hacking away at the ball and chain tied to my ankle, when I could have been scaling a mountain.
And as for being stuck in the tram track of compliance —
Recently I listened to an interview with Dr Richard Moss, entitled Rediscover your centre - reclaim your joy, on Radio National’s New Dimensions. It was so good, I downloaded it as a podcast, and so far I’ve replayed it about six times. I could relate to so much of the content. In fact, it felt like Moss had heard about me – knew every detail of my life journey to date – and as a Christmas present, prepared a beautifully erudite account of all that I have learned so far. Well — almost.
He talks about the healing properties of living in the present moment – something that is coming home more and more to me. What happens to our minds when we are not fully present? Is there a path of return? How do our self-judgements impact on our physical state of being as well as our emotions and psychological state?
He talks about Winnicott and the holding environment; Rumi, whose poems are examples of living in the now; stream of consciousness writing – as in Julia Cameron’s morning pages; the power of story; meditation and the importance of silence – and so much more.
I will never be an extrovert – as much as I would like to be. But now and again I can morph into Myf, or Cathy, or Beatrice – even Janet.
And I’m thankful to that untidy person in Borders.
It’s reminded me of how far I’ve come.
While I wait for my Mega Berry Blast ingredients to be pulverised, I scan the immediate area for familiar faces. It’s bound to happen. Just as the beautiful Welsh name is about to roll off the Boost girl’s tongue when she hands me my juice, a long-lost cousin will suddenly emerge from a shop and call out, ‘CAROLE!’
But no one does and I’m saved from shame and embarrassment. ‘Myf,’ calls the girl, and not even one head turns as I take my drink.
‘No ice,’ I’d said, so I drink it straight down at a nearby table. I notice there’s a classy-looking woman drinking coffee at the table opposite. I’m thirsty, and when I get down to the bottom, it’s very disappointing. I know there’s still a little bit left, but only obtainable with a fair amount of noise. Myf, I decide, isn’t the type to consider the sensibilities of others, so, vacuum cleaner-style, I guide the straw around and slurp up every last drop, making sure I meet the gaze of the woman when she looks up.
When the girl at the Apple shop says, no,we don’t sell mouse pads, Myf can’t believe a computer shop could fail to stock such an essential item. After she mentions this, the other assistant immediately offers to look out the back – might even be a free one, he says. There are none left, but Myf thanks him anyway...
It all started in Borders.
Someone had done what you sometimes see at the supermarket – stuffed a packet of sausages in amongst the icing sugar – except it was Overcoming Shyness: twenty-seven whacky ways to bring out the extrovert in you (or something like that) sitting by itself alongside the pencil cases. A quick flick through and I was hooked. Myf emerged like a genie.
When I was a teenager I was so shy I couldn’t even walk properly; I was so self-conscious, I felt like the caterpillar in the poem at the top of this page. Words, when I was brave enough to speak up in a group, fumbled their way out of my mouth like cherry pips, usually in the wrong order. School reports were always stamped with: needs to participate more in class.
Being shy is like being locked in a prison. When it’s coupled with low self esteem, it’s like being shackled in a dungeon. Blue sky and the world of opportunity can only be glimpsed through a crack in the ceiling.
For a time I raged both at the unfairness of being robbed by my shyness – of missed opportunities, relationships, fun and adventure – and the years spent hacking away at the ball and chain tied to my ankle, when I could have been scaling a mountain.
And as for being stuck in the tram track of compliance —
Recently I listened to an interview with Dr Richard Moss, entitled Rediscover your centre - reclaim your joy, on Radio National’s New Dimensions. It was so good, I downloaded it as a podcast, and so far I’ve replayed it about six times. I could relate to so much of the content. In fact, it felt like Moss had heard about me – knew every detail of my life journey to date – and as a Christmas present, prepared a beautifully erudite account of all that I have learned so far. Well — almost.
He talks about the healing properties of living in the present moment – something that is coming home more and more to me. What happens to our minds when we are not fully present? Is there a path of return? How do our self-judgements impact on our physical state of being as well as our emotions and psychological state?
He talks about Winnicott and the holding environment; Rumi, whose poems are examples of living in the now; stream of consciousness writing – as in Julia Cameron’s morning pages; the power of story; meditation and the importance of silence – and so much more.
I will never be an extrovert – as much as I would like to be. But now and again I can morph into Myf, or Cathy, or Beatrice – even Janet.
And I’m thankful to that untidy person in Borders.
It’s reminded me of how far I’ve come.
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