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| My mom w/one of her grandchildren |
I was terrifically shy as a little girl.
I was considered quiet and polite by adults, for the most part. Being shy often means being quiet and polite. Being polite does require an amount of social effort, challenging for a shy person, but it is less effort than dealing with the attention of not having been polite.
As with many things I didn't like about myself as a girl, I would often blame my mom. My hairy arms? Her fault, clearly. I mean, who has a baby with a hairy man when they obviously know that will put the child at risk of one day being a girl with hairy arms being told to wear a t-shirt in P.E.? I mean, c'mon. It's just selfish really. Darn moms. Am I right?
Anyway, one day I made the mistake of politely mentioning to my mom that my debilitating shyness was, no offense, her fault. (We were in the car and she was asking me to go into the store to purchase something and I was too scared and shy and whining at her that it was her fault and she was a terrible mom.)
Mom patiently encouraged me to go, pushed me with just enough force to let me notice that it was ME being a big baby and that she was not cruel and was only encouraging my growth. I got madder at her for that.
"If I ever have a kid as shy as me," I snapped at her, "I will put them in situations where they have to talk to people so they get practice and won't be shy! I'll do it from the start! I'll make them ask for directions and order food and talk to everyone so much they won't ever have a chance to be this shy!!"
I don't remember, to be honest, if I walked into the store that day. But I do remember mom pointing out that she was doing exactly that by asking me to go into the store. She was creating the situation for me to practice not being shy. I remember the horrible feeling in my stomach when I realized what I'd done and what I'd basically asked her to keep doing.
That was so many years ago. Since then I have performed on stages, been on camera, ordered pizza, talked to immigration officers, been interviewed about my ideas on the phone and on video, asked for directions from strangers over and over. So much of that has been at the request of my mom. Sometimes the request is a fairly forceful request; a request bordering on a demand. Sometimes it is simply a request that requires my willingness to be lost and ask for directions. (MOM: can you drop my headshots off at my agent's house? It is a brown house on such and such road between so and so and so and so street in Toronto. By a KFC. I think there is a window? ME: Lots of houses have windows. MOM: Yes, but this one, I think, has a really big window. ME: Okay.)
I am still foundationaly shy. I am still deeply happy alone, I'm desirous of being anonymous, I naturally avoid company more than seek it. And no matter how many times my mom puts me in the position of doing so, I still cannot make cold calls.
But I am not devastatingly shy; debilitatingly shy. And I tell you what, I definitely was.
My mom needed my help. She had eight of us kids, she was a single mom, my siblings and I were all challenging and challenged in a variety of uncommon ways, I am the oldest. She needed my help. Had she not pushed me to be less shy, I would have been less help.
And of all the things I am today it is being helpful, being an assistant, being a right hand man, that I find consistent joy in. It is how I make my money and a place I find purpose.
I am grateful to my mom for pushing me.
That doesn't mean I enjoy it.
But I truly am grateful.
And I'm not too shy to tell her I blame her.
(Though maybe with less whining this time?)
Hugs, smiles, and love!!!
