Modest Capabilities

Dear I'm-having-a-bad-thought-Will:

“Will, I want to have your babies!”

I slouched deep into my desk, my long hair grazing the top of the seat, my already-tan face turning a deep crimson. I locked my jaw and folded my arms as I stared toward the behavior chart, then the sign above the door reading “Mr. McMan’s Thrilling Third Grade!” glancing anywhere but in her direction, as I prayed that my classmates hadn’t heard the extremely blunt remark, not so much for my sake, but for hers.

Lauren had been awkwardly admiring me for weeks, in the lunch line, at recess, and on the bus, and my friends eventually caught on, resulting in her public ridicule. My silence was an attempt to prevent hurting her feelings, but instead fellow students interpreted my silence as being “too good” to dignify the crass announcement with a response.

In retrospect, this was the first time I realized that people can’t read me. They falsely labeled me as arrogant and cocky when instead I am observant, reticent, and fiercely independent. The past 17 years of my life have been predicated on a false sense of confidence that masks overwhelming insecurity.

Based on their assessment, this is who I am: an entitled golfer who underachieved his innate talent; a student who gets by without hard work thanks to a quick wit and natural smarts; stuck-up and conceited because I don’t find it necessary to speak at every opportunity. Only a select few know who I really am and the depth of my insecurities on the golf course, in the classroom, and throughout my everyday life. This is by design. What I’m hiding is the countless hours of conceptualized failure flooding my thoughts. Since I can remember, I have battled myself and stood as my own barrier to success.

What people don't recognize is the work and backbone that has put me here today. This is what makes up who I really am. I am a person who uses golf to escape from the unconscious repetition of everyday life. Instead of golf being a way to find meaning, it serves as an outlet for time of thought.  Although I competed in the state golf tournament as a senior, accolades and recognition were never my goals. What others view as underachievements, I view as my personal growth. I am a person who always been engaged in learning, but not just so I can achieve a certain GPA. Ever since I was a toddler, I was at my mom’s side, absorbing language beyond my years: The Canterbury Tales, Shakespeare, Beowulf. Literature has soaked into my blood, my muscle, and my marrow, and will forever be part of me. Language molded me into the person I am, but spoken words didn’t come naturally like people think.  Although my silence can be mistaken for arrogance, I am ultimately a person who would rather listen than speak because the words of others contain multitudes I incline to not only hear but deconstruct, interpret, and analyze.

As someone who constantly copes with personal self-doubt and insecurities, I look forward to stretching my boundaries from what I’ve learned so far during my young life to new knowledge that is only on the horizon now. I’ve listened. Now it’s time to speak. Growing up requires me to make sure others feel heard--especially those who awkwardly don’t quite have a voice. Looking back, I should have told Lauren that we should just be friends and urged our classmates to cut it out. However, that learned elementary lesson will always resonate deep within and remind me to stand up and speak out in the preservation of others.

I now have the chance to showcase my full potential by relying on my rarely seen true identity: an identity that is predicated on a modest understanding of my own capabilities.

Sincerely,

Finally-developed-my-voice-18-year-old Will