I was already aware of this
organization. I had consciously decided against applying because when I stacked
my resume against those of people who were selected, I wasn’t even close to
being in their league.
My friend, much wiser than his
age would dictate, told me that the organization places great value on the
potential to make change. And he told me I had that potential, and that I
should apply.
My first action was to thank him
for these kind words. My second, third, fourth, and fifth actions were to raise
reasons why I wouldn’t even bother applying.
All of these were variations of the phrase “I’m not good enough.”
But if the whole process is based
on potential, which even I think I have, then why wouldn’t I take a shot?
And it dawned on me that, somewhere
along the way, I had managed to convince myself I wasn’t good enough. I might
be good in my little bubble, where I know most people and can woo a crowd when
I need too. But I’m a little nervous when we move a few steps beyond that
level. And I believe I’m simply not good enough when we move to the level of,
y’unno, doing important, positive work.
It wasn’t the big failures that
drove me to this state of mind but the little ones. Failing to keep up small
habits. Failing at things I had done dozens of times before. Failing to take
control when doing so could have made all the difference.
Somewhere between all of these
little trials, I started to believe I wasn’t good enough. I know it because my
dream started to change.
Since I was 14, I have wanted to
be the Prime Minister of Canada. We’re a great country with so much potential,
if only we could realize how great we could be.
How could I have the audacity to
dream of doing something so powerful as leading a nation when I couldn’t even
manage to cook an egg properly, or catch the bus on time, or get a single case
in class correct (and yes, there were days when all three of these happened).
No, I couldn’t lead. I couldn’t
even think of doing it. The country deserved better.
So I pulled back my ambitions. I
would have a successful career. I would have many great friends and hopefully a
special someone. I’d be okay. In fact, I’d live what might be considered a
textbook definition of a good life.
And yet, there was still that tiny
whisper inside me, spoken by a voice somehow not silenced.
That voice demands more.
I don’t know if I can provide
that “more”, that need to do something positive. I listen to this voice because
it makes me feel like I haven’t given up. This feeling is cold comfort when you
haven’t actually done anything to
prove you haven’t given up on being something spectacular.
Now being the good people you are
(thanks again for reading!) you’re probably thinking about the time I wrote
about comparing
yourself and how it serves no purpose but to make you feel bad.
But through this pep talk, I’ve discovered
that it can do something even worse: comparing yourself can make you limit
yourself. It makes you focus on what you can
do, not on what you could do.
Comparing yourself makes you, or
at least made me, think in a way that might be called practical.
Potential isn’t practical. If we
measured potential by what was to our knowledge possible, then I sincerely
doubt I’d be typing this right now. Literally, the keyboard, computer monitor,
and Internet would probably not have been invented.
I know these blogs usually end
with some degree of lesson learned or mission accomplished or, on occasion, an
almost funny joke. I don’t have one for you this time. I have a story that has
yet to be concluded.
I have the knowledge that I’ve
been limiting myself. I have the annoyance/blessing/pain of an internal voice
that demands more from me. I have the guilt of almost shooting down someone who
had the courage to have faith in me.
All of that moaning being
released, I’m going to apply to the conference. Because I have nothing to lose,
sure. But also because someone sees something in me that I used to. If I don’t
get chosen, that faith will not diminish. If I do get chosen, I don’t think it will restore the confidence I used
to have, though it will probably help.
But if I don’t take control, then nothing
will change. Things will only be okay. And now, finally, the little voice
inside isn’t the only part of that can’t accept this.
Editor’s note: If you have a
topic idea, I’d love to hear from you! Suggestions can be made in the comments
section or on Twitter @JeremyDeMello.
