Confidence Games

I used to have a ton of confidence. It used to ooze out of my pores and fall out of my ears. At one point, I think I would have made an amazing con-artist (or maybe a spy) because I was so friggin’ confident in my abilities to schmooze and network and engage.

I think the key phrase in that paragraph is “used to.”

This is not the case anymore. Life has worn me down and stripped me of the confidence that used to come naturally to me. In many ways, I was probably destined to lose at least a modicum of that confidence because of my natural tendency to seek approval. Even as a little girl, I would look to my parents or grandparents or whoever was nearby to get a clap or a cheer when I did a little dance or told a little tale. That praise just made me glow and gave me the sense that not only did I do well, but I could do even better if I just tried.

I see Pineapple doing this now. I see her throw a ball or put a circle in its proper slot and I see her look at me for that approval. And it just makes me shudder. I can’t always give her the approval I know she deserves. I won’t always be there. And life is a harsh mistress. Someday she will be looking and hoping for approval and it won’t be there – maybe even sometimes when she really needs it and really deserves it.

I think I need to work on helping her understand that she doesn’t need my approval – or anybody else’s for that matter. She needs her OWN approval. She needs to set standards for herself. Standards she can live by but aren’t too high. Standards that challenge her but don’t ask her to sacrifice the important things in life – like family and sanity. She needs standards she can believe in so that NO MATTER WHAT, she can look at what she has done and pat her own tiny back if nobody is around to do it for her.

I just wish I could teach this to myself.

Sydney Bristow Can Keep Her Job

DH and I have been watching a LOT of Alias lately due to the fact that Pineapple gave me the first two seasons on DVD for Christmas. Now, in order from absolute FAVORITE best show of all time, my picks are as follows:
  1. Buffy The Vampire Slayer (Joss Whedon is a genius.)
  2. Firefly (Seriously, have you heard of Joss Whedon? Genius.)
  3. Alias (Uber. Cool.)
  4. Angel (Is there anything Joss cannot do?!)
  5. Every other good show out there (most of which DH has informed me are NOT ‘good’ shows but rather are bad shows aimed at teenagers – but he likes Borat, so I’m not listening to him) – including all shows written and produced by Joss Whedon – including Dollhouse, Lost, Moonlight (too shortly lived), Roswell, Star Trek (the original series)…getting the idea here? I kinda like sci-fi/espionage/mystery stuff…that’s kinda my fave…OK, throw in a little Office & Rock of Love/Charm School/other VH1 vehicles for flavor.

Something else you may have noticed is that I like shows with strong female leads. Given that, it should be obvious why I love Sydney Bristow. She’s awesomely tough. And not only is she TOTALLY gorgeous and always put together but she’s insanely smart, speaks a bazillion languages, and has the coolest job. Ever. And since DH and I have been watching so much Alias lately, to the point that I’ve been dreaming I’m Sydney Bristow, the topic of me being a spy has come up in many of our conversations. For example, a recent conversation went something like this:

Me: I could totally be a spy just like Sydney Bristow…in fact, there’s something I should probably tell you…

DH: NO! Don’t tell me – I don’t want to be killed because you’re delusional and think for one millisecond you could be a spy.

Me: And why exactly couldn’t I be a spy????? Are you saying I’m not smart enough?

DH: No, I’m saying you’d never survive the torture…you’d give up in the first few seconds and Sydney is always getting tortured for information. She’s had her teeth pulled, multiple electric shocks…you just wouldn’t be able to hold out, that’s all.

Me: I’m tough!

DH: Ummmm, no. You’re not.

Me: Give me an example!

DH: OK – let’s say you’re about to be tortured…

Me: Bring it on!

DH:…and so you’re being held in a room by yourself…

Me: Alone time is a good thing – it allows for introspection and personal development…

DH: And you’re naked.

Me: As long as I’m not being judged, that’s OK.

DH: And it’s really, really,  really cold.

Me: Cold sucks <insert uncertain voice> – but I’d meditate my way through it….I bet….

DH: And now…for the first step in the torture process….we’re going to carry you into this meat locker and put you naked on this freezing cold metal table…it’s SOOOOOO COLD!!!!

Me: OK!!!! I’ll tell you what you want!!!!!

DH: And, that’s why you can’t be a secret spy.

Me: As long as they didn’t do the cold thing, I think I’d be OK…

DH: That’s all they’d do…because they’d know you’d hate it.

Me: Bad guys suck.

So, there you have it. I couldn’t be a spy because I’m a cold wimp. Other things besides the cold table we both agreed would push me right over the interrogation edge include:

  • Someone putting their freezing cold hands or toes on my warm tummy.
  • Making me drink a lot of frozen drinks to the point of brain freeze.
  • Making me pick up ice with my wet hands.
  • Forcing me to take a luke warm bath.
  • Not letting me wear house shoes on the cold, wood floor – socks only. (JERKS!)

I could seriously write this list all day, but I’ll save you the torture. 😉 Suffice to say, I’m not spy material. C’est la vie…I’d look awful with orange hair anyway!