The Long Way Home 5.1.26

From an early age, I hoped to be accepted and admired by everyone, despite that niggling feeling that I didn’t deserve to be. What if it turns out that most people actually don’t care about me at all? 

Most people, I think, haven’t quite come to terms with that question. The reality is that, with all the crap going on in this world, people don’t have the bandwidth to pay much attention to you or me. If they don't care, we might as well say what we actually think when we get the chance.

There’s actually a name for this kind of self-torture. Psychologists call it the ‘Spotlight Effect’, which is the feeling that everyone is watching and judging us, even though most people aren’t paying attention. I realized this half a lifetime ago and adjusted. My worry about fitting in was a massive waste of emotional real estate.

There are lots of reasons for thinking that growing up in the 50s and 60s was blissful, and most of them are BS. The reality for me was hand-me-down clothes that older cousins had outgrown. I usually got a new pair of shoes once a year or so, but when the cool kids were wearing their Jack Purcell sneakers with the trademark blue smile insert on the toe, I had to have the cheap knockoff with the blue smile pasted on, and it came off fast and easy when you dragged your feet to slow your bike—bikes by the way that were hand-me-downs too. For a kid who just wanted to be accepted, it was pretty humiliating.  

During my teenage years, pimples felt like bright warning lights that drew everyone’s criticism. I never had a hairstyle I liked because my father, the Master Sergeant, insisted on cutting my hair himself, even though he wasn’t very good at it. I was always aware of people judging my short, uneven hair. Noticing the opposite sex only made me feel the spotlight effect more strongly.

As an adult, I began making my own choices. I wore three-piece suits, custom shirts, and silk ties—no more hand-me-downs. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that people were judging me, and I wanted their approval.

I started to accept that most people didn’t even know I existed, much less give two thoughts to me and the weaknesses I carried deep inside. In the last century, I campaigned for election to the Minnesota House of Representatives. Along with a dozen or more other candidates for various offices, I was invited to Fairview Hospital for a tour of the facility and a chance to stump in the cafeteria afterward. The cafeteria was filling up as we each got our two minutes to speak and express our overwhelming understanding of public issues. When I finished speaking, I strolled through the cafeteria to shake some hands and sew up some votes. Three nurses were at the first table I stopped at, and they seemed a bit standoffish. I thanked them for attending and asked brightly what their main issues were. They put me in my place when they said, “It’s our lunch hour, and we just came down here to eat.” My spotlight immediately moved to the euphemistic light bulb that burned over my head. I finally accepted that people don’t really care who I am, what I look like, or how important I was--because I wasn’t. 

Nothing puts the “spotlight” on us more brightly than speaking in public. Public speaking is the number one social fear. We perceive being judged poorly by the group as a form of "social death" or exile. The reason we fear public speaking so much is that we overestimate how focused the audience is on our flaws. In reality, they just hope we have useful information and speak no longer than necessary to make our point. Realizing that people are mostly thinking about themselves can feel like freedom.

The Spotlight Effect only matters if we believe we need everyone’s approval, especially from strangers. No one is thinking about your clothes, your weight, or your hair—they’re too busy worrying about themselves, their schedules, or their relationships. Realizing that most people don’t care about me helped me adopt this motto: Screw 'em if they can't take a joke.

Don’t let your spotlight go dark. We keep our headlights on in fog so we can be seen by other drivers, not to be applauded. As for the rest? Wear the knockoff shoes, misspeak at the podium, and for heaven's sake, let them see you sweat. It’s the only way they’ll know you’re human.