The First Time I Chose Me

Do you remember the first time you went against what society, your friends, your family thought you should do or were telling you to do? Do you remember the first time you chose to do something that you wanted to do, even if it made you feel really uncomfortable? Did it make you feel just a little bit freer?

I heard on a podcast recently that we start to realize the grip of society, the way that we should go about being in the world, at age 11. At age 11, when we realize that we aren’t the way “others” want us to be, shame and self-doubt starts to creep in. We start to act and carry ourselves in ways that go against our truest, most authentic selves.

Before I was 11, I loved theater. I was what you might call a theater nerd. As a really young kid, I loved being the center of attention, and theater allowed for me to really embrace that part of my character.

My mom loved theater as well, and so I started out by playing kids’ roles in the plays and musicals she would be in. Then, I branched out on my own. There was a local theater summer camp run by some lovely and talented young adults in my community. I participated in that theater camp and was in a play every summer for years.

As a kid, theater always gave me so much joy. But over time, as I crept ever closer to that inevitable age of 11, self-doubt started to creep in. I blame society (I mean really, when don’t I blame society; that’s probably why that podcast that talked about what happens at age 11 was so validating).

When I was little, I was super outgoing and fearless (as I mentioned, I loved being the center of attention). If you were to watch my family’s home videos, you would see that I never stopped talking. I was sassy and confident.

But as I got older, I got more and more uncomfortable in my own skin. I didn’t want to be the center of attention anymore because I feared I would look silly. I didn’t think I was pretty or thin enough, I didn’t say the right things. Boys had crushes on other girls, but not me. I was shrinking away.

Although I loved theater, I developed terrible stage fright. When I was performing in a group, part of the choir, I was ok. But when I was acting alone or had a solo, I was terrified. And because I was pretty good at singing, I got a lot of solos. And I was terrified all the time. I couldn’t live in the moment when I was performing solo. There was one performance I was in where my grandparents couldn’t come on the night of the actual play, so they came to the dress rehearsal instead. They were the only ones in the audience for the dress rehearsal. And I STILL got terrible stage fright and messed up my solo because I couldn’t remember the opening lines of the song.

Sports come swooping in to save the day

So here I am, age 11, awkward 6th grader who loves theater but has such stage fright and is terrified of what everyone thinks of her. Not to mention I was pudgy, and I didn’t have much confidence at all.

Somehow, I ended up trying out for the 6th grade basketball team (did my parents encourage me? Friends? I’m not sure…). But I made the team! I didn’t think I was that good (I shot the ball with two hands), but my coach told me I had potential. That was all my goodie two-shoes self needed to hear. I had always been a really good student and was eager to learn (teacher’s pet, anyone?), so it felt natural for me to shift to sports. I was patient, I listened, and I liked to practice (just like I enjoyed doing homework): a coach’s dream.

By the end of that 6th-grade season, I was one of the better players on the team. By the time I reached 7th grade, I was slim, athletic, and a pick for the 7th/8th-grade basketball team.

We were a powerhouse team. We ended up winning the championship when I was in both 7th and 8th grade.

And that’s how I went from a theater lover to a jock. My identity became centered around athletics. My teammates became my best friends. As the saying goes, I did indeed “eat, sleep, and breathe basketball”.

By discovering my love for basketball and eventually other sports, by finding something else I was good at besides theater and that was missing the stage fright, it was like coming home. I still got nervous before big games, but to me, it wasn’t the same as performing a solo on a stage. Audiences were still watching me, I was still “performing for the crowd,” but I could be present when I was playing a sport, I could get lost in the game and drown everything else out the way I couldn’t with acting and performing. Sports came easy for me. Plus, I had my teammates. We were all in it together; I wasn’t alone.

There were other benefits too, of course: I was healthy and muscular, I slept great, and I had a fantastic work ethic that carried over into school and family life. I was hooked on sports. In high school, I was what they called a “three-season athlete”. I played volleyball in the fall, basketball in the winter, and tennis in the spring. I loved being a teammate, a captain, and a leader, all while striving to be the best player I could be. I made varsity and was a starter in volleyball and basketball by my sophomore year, and by my sophomore year on the tennis team, I was the #1 player. I loved the competition. I lived to compete, and to compete alongside my teammates, whom I would do anything for. We were a sisterhood. I belonged somewhere. Isn’t that all anyone really wants, to belong?

A decision to make

My senior year in high school was the year I knew I’d be a starter on the basketball team. I had been on the varsity team since I was a sophomore, but I’d never been a starter. I’d always played plenty and was a decent player, but there had always been more senior players on the team who were better at the positions I played: forward and center.

But not this year. This year was my year.

I’ll never forget the day. My coach asked me to stick around after practice. It was the beginning of the season, before we had played our first game. He sat me down on the bench and started to explain how important the “6th man” was (my now-feminist self cringes to think of this conversation).

My heart sank. I obviously knew what the 6th man was: the first player off the bench. Read another way: not a starter. He really laid it on to sound attractive. He said that I was so good, and such a good teammate and leader, that this would be the best thing for the team. He and the team needed me to play this position. They were counting on me. There were a few juniors who were bigger than me, and they needed to be the starters so they could intimate the other teams right from the get-go. He may have been right, but I will never forget how crushed I felt. I had been working for this for so long, and I couldn’t wait to be a starter. Alongside my teammates and friends from the beginning of the game. During my senior, my last, high-school season.

But soon after that conversation, something happened. I found out that the school play that year was going to be Les Miserables, my favorite musical of all time. And something in me stirred. A light flickered. A feeling I hadn’t felt in 6 years.

I hadn’t thought much about theater since that day in 6th grade when I picked up a basketball. But I felt something when I found out about the school play that year. Maybe having been blindsided by the news that I wouldn’t be a starter that senior basketball season was a factor. I’m sure that was part of it. But when I heard about the school play being my favorite musical, a switch flipped on (now, I know that feeling as a creativity whisper).

Over the next few days, the flicker didn’t go away. It got stronger. I thought about it constantly. My mind wouldn’t stop. I knew I wouldn’t get any big part in the play, not necessarily because I wasn’t good but just because I hadn’t put the time and practice in in so long the way I had with sports. Plus, there were kids in my school who were THE theater kids, and they were good! But those thoughts didn’t make the flicker stop either.

On the flip side, I knew I would be really letting my teammates on the basketball team down if I quit right before the season started. And they weren’t just my teammates, they were my friends. Would they be mad at me? Would some of them not want to be my friend anymore? But I already knew I was going to play volleyball in college… so what did it matter if I played basketball this season?

Back and forth and back and forth my mind went, playing out all my options. But ultimately, when it came down to it, I knew in my heart what I wanted to do. The flicker wasn’t going away. I didn’t want to regret not trying out for the play. I needed to listen to myself, to decide what I wanted to do, and not worry what anyone else thought. I needed to not disappoint myself. I needed to choose me.

To everyone’s disbelief, I quit the basketball team. I quit the basketball team, and I signed up for an audition in the school play. It felt crazy and yet so right at the same time. Yes, I quit before I even knew if I’d get a part. I decided that even if I didn’t get a part in the school play, my heart wasn’t in it when it came to basketball that year.

I didn’t even ask my parents, I just told them my decision. And you know what they said? They said, “We are so proud of you”. I love them so much for that, and I know I’m lucky. My parents always let me be me, and for that I’m forever grateful.

To some, the ending to this story may not be all that glamorous. I did not get a big fancy part in Les Miserables. I made it into the choir. I had one single solo line in “At the End of the Day,” and let me tell you, I sang the hell out of that one line. I also got to be the one to hold Eponine at fake knifepoint when she’s trying to protect Cosette and Marius, and I was weirdly super excited about that. I made great new friends. I had the time of my life.

Hindsight’s 20/20

To this day, I don’t regret my decision one bit. One of the play directors had been my Junior-year English teacher. After I finished my audition piece (“On my Own,” of course), I’ll never forget the words she said to me “I never knew you could sing!” That was all I needed to hear to know I had made the right choice. I chose me. I chose joy. I chose the flicker.

Now, as a 35-year-old adult, I try to practice choosing me every day. It’s not always easy, but it gets easier with time. The more we get to know ourselves and who we really, truly are, rather than who society is telling us to be, the more we know what choosing ourselves even looks like. It could mean saying no to going out to dinner with friends and instead suggesting to go for a walk to fit your budget. It may mean choosing to read a book instead of doing that big workout you had planned, because you’re tired and your body is telling you it needs rest. Or, it could be something more extreme like ending a relationship that is no longer serving you, or causing you to abandon yourself.

I bring this mindset even further into my money goals by not letting anyone else dictate my decisions or how I spend my money. I have done a lot of good work to establish my values and goals. Because of this, and because I have embraced a slow FI (financial independence) lifestyle where I strive to enjoy life now, along the way to FI, I know myself and where I want to go really well. I use those values and goals I have come to know so well to help me make decisions, and to help me avoid the guilt that sometimes comes with choosing me.

Why throw all that hard work of finding out who you are and what sparks joy for you away just to be seen as someone else in society’s eyes? Living up to society’s expectations has never made me happy anyway.

I’ll end by saying that this love for theater, this particular creativity whisper, has crept back into my life as an adult, and I couldn’t be happier. I have found a creative outlet by performing in certain situations (at church, in my community, etc.). With time, the stage fright has gotten better as well, to the point where acting in plays in something on my Financial Freedom List (a list of things and experiences I want to try or do more of as I become more financially free).

Do you remember the first time you chose yourself over what was expected of you by others? What have you done, what changes have you made, to choose joy or to bring more joy into your every-day life? I’d love to hear from you!