- Words by Katie Hake from The Wandering Adult -
I find it both endearing and a little sad that we can’t promote our own work or tout our own successes, especially online, without being overly bashful about it. We must be self-denigrating and witty-but-also-I’m-serious-please-buy-this-slash-look-at-this-thing-I-made-or-did.
Don’t get me wrong – I appreciate humility and would rather read about the long months it took you to train for a race than how great you think your cat photography is (your cat is cute but I don’t care about the process, Karen.) Still, can’t we be proud of our accomplishments without pretending they’re no big deal for the sake of social acceptance?
This McSweeney’s article, titled “I Did a Thing,” captures many of my thoughts on this subject:
"I did a thing. And I'm just going to leave it here for you, because I feel that special blend of pride and awkwardness that compels me to tell the world about this thing without getting too intense. My thing is a good thing, and it makes me proud, but shyly so."
Three months ago, I climbed the Grand Teton as the culmination of my summer job leading outdoor trips for students. The certificate for that feat, signed by our three guides, is currently pinned to my refrigerator. Because I’m proud of it, goddammit. I did a thing!
For regular alpinists, the Grand is not the most difficult climb. For toads like me, it’s a huge life feat. And I’m OK with being proud of it.
It's not even the tallest mountain in Wyoming. But it's my mountain now, and that makes it special.
Alternative caption: I climbed a thing!
But I also know the tension and awkward urge to pull back at the edge of pride, wary of crossing over into bragging or worse, humblebragging.
“I did a thing” is much easier to put out there than “Look at what I spent hours and lots of energy and effort on! I love it and you should too!” Instead, we minimize. “Hope you don’t hate it! And if you do, that’s OK, ’cause it’s just a thing! I don’t really care either way.”
Maybe it’s a need to be liked (I struggle with this often) that leads us to play down things we’ve done, not wanting to be labeled a show-off, trying to get attention.
Maybe it’s our own internalized beliefs that however proud or excited we are about accomplishing something that we consider an achievement, someone else has done it before, probably better, probably all the time, probably Karen when she’s not doing her cat photography.
Whatever it is, it makes us squirm too much to state matter-of-factly that we created something, performed something, climbed something and we’re pumped about it. If you just tell it like it is, you might become your coworker who won’t stop showing you clips from his daughter’s ballet recital because clearly, it’s the greatest performance by a human child on the planet.
Or maybe that’s just inside your head. Maybe your coworker has already learned something I definitely haven’t: that what everyone else thinks really doesn’t matter. Or that it’s just nice to share things with other people.
And if you are one of those people who have already mastered the art of posting things they’re proud of on the internet without cringing – can you please teach me?
To read more from Katie, check out her blog - wanderingadult.com
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Hiking in winter offered me the feeling of being truly alone without feeling lonely: a feeling a lot of people can identify with right now.
Seasonal depression is real and practicing self-care is important now more than ever. Going on a hike in the winter is a great way to get endorphins flowing and get out of the house. Not to mention there’s no bugs, no crowds, and more views on trail; don’t let the winter scare you away, rather, embrace it and have a good story to tell.
Covering those four miles an hour seemed like a distant dream. I moved at a pace dictated by the desert. The quicker you moved, the more you slipped about. It could be agonizing. This was a discomfort unique to the desert, one that I knew well from previous sandy sojourns in the Mojave and White Sands. My twisted mind invited the discomfort in. Let’s tango, desert.
My pack was stocked to survive three days in the backcountry. Though there were a good amount of clouds in the sky, the sun somehow found a way to shine through. And my skin found a way to chafe in the only place the sun don’t shine. My feet felt the burning heat from the sand through my lightweight trail runners. My calves punished me for subjecting them to such a rigorous sandy workout.