Amy Voltaire's Blog
May 4, 2019
Fake it 'til you make it
My book launch was last Saturday. It was an enjoyable and exciting experience, but it was also exhausting. I’ve learned so many things since I began the journey to getting this book out there, with my most recent lesson being this: Fake it ‘til you make it.
I am, by nature, an introvert. I’m hard-wired to do things like only leave the house when necessary, be more of a listener than a speaker, and spend the majority of my free time with my cat and dog, neither of which are interested in carrying on conversations with me. Don’t get me wrong, anyone who knows me knows that once I’m settled in and comfortable, you may not be able to shut me up. But it takes a little while. And I don’t do well with more than one thing at a time…for example, at the launch, if more than one person was standing there waiting for me to talk to them, I got a little panicked. However, it probably wouldn’t have gone over too well if I had a panic attack in the middle of my book launch. So, what did I do? I employed the old “fake it ‘til you make it” routine.
When I say I faked it, I do not mean that I was insincere. What I mean is that I pretended (to myself) that I was 100% comfortable with the situation. I do this often—I have to. Since I no longer have the option to drink a few beers to put myself at ease, I’ve had to find a way to get through certain situations without freaking the hell out. At the launch, I found out I’m not the only person who does this…
While there, I was talking to someone I went to school with, and we got into a conversation about this challenge. He is also an introvert and has had to find ways to get through social situations. We agreed that in certain circumstances, you almost have to pretend to be someone else. Again, I don’t mean being fake…I mean faking yourself out. When I speak (as in public speaking), I pretend I’m not nervous. I pretend I’m confident. I also pretend that I’m not likely to throw up. While everything I say comes from the heart, the only way I can get the words out of my mouth is to pretend that I’m good at it and comfortable doing it. And most of the time, it works.
However, forcing myself to be a social butterfly when I prefer to hide out alone in my cocoon, can be exhausting; so this weekend, I’m staying in my cocoon. I’m still communicating, but I’m doing it the way I’m most comfortable doing it—through writing. And while I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that, I wish I was more comfortable in social situations. Maybe one day, after repeatedly faking myself out over the years, I’ll have successfully tricked my mind into believing that I am a social butterfly, but until that day comes, I’ll be a caterpillar who’s faking it ‘til she makes it.
P.S. The correct technical term for a butterfly’s metamorphosis abode is “Chrysalis”. Cocoons are for moths, but it’s a more common term, so I used it, even though I never hope to be a social moth. If you already knew this little fact, yay for you…I had to look it up.
By Amy Voltaire
I am, by nature, an introvert. I’m hard-wired to do things like only leave the house when necessary, be more of a listener than a speaker, and spend the majority of my free time with my cat and dog, neither of which are interested in carrying on conversations with me. Don’t get me wrong, anyone who knows me knows that once I’m settled in and comfortable, you may not be able to shut me up. But it takes a little while. And I don’t do well with more than one thing at a time…for example, at the launch, if more than one person was standing there waiting for me to talk to them, I got a little panicked. However, it probably wouldn’t have gone over too well if I had a panic attack in the middle of my book launch. So, what did I do? I employed the old “fake it ‘til you make it” routine.
When I say I faked it, I do not mean that I was insincere. What I mean is that I pretended (to myself) that I was 100% comfortable with the situation. I do this often—I have to. Since I no longer have the option to drink a few beers to put myself at ease, I’ve had to find a way to get through certain situations without freaking the hell out. At the launch, I found out I’m not the only person who does this…
While there, I was talking to someone I went to school with, and we got into a conversation about this challenge. He is also an introvert and has had to find ways to get through social situations. We agreed that in certain circumstances, you almost have to pretend to be someone else. Again, I don’t mean being fake…I mean faking yourself out. When I speak (as in public speaking), I pretend I’m not nervous. I pretend I’m confident. I also pretend that I’m not likely to throw up. While everything I say comes from the heart, the only way I can get the words out of my mouth is to pretend that I’m good at it and comfortable doing it. And most of the time, it works.
However, forcing myself to be a social butterfly when I prefer to hide out alone in my cocoon, can be exhausting; so this weekend, I’m staying in my cocoon. I’m still communicating, but I’m doing it the way I’m most comfortable doing it—through writing. And while I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that, I wish I was more comfortable in social situations. Maybe one day, after repeatedly faking myself out over the years, I’ll have successfully tricked my mind into believing that I am a social butterfly, but until that day comes, I’ll be a caterpillar who’s faking it ‘til she makes it.
P.S. The correct technical term for a butterfly’s metamorphosis abode is “Chrysalis”. Cocoons are for moths, but it’s a more common term, so I used it, even though I never hope to be a social moth. If you already knew this little fact, yay for you…I had to look it up.
By Amy Voltaire
April 23, 2019
Stop and Smell the Roses
Throughout my life, I've heard different variations of, "Be sure to stop and smell the roses." I've always taken this to mean, "Don't get so busy that you hurry through life, neglecting to take the time to appreciate the beauty that surrounds you," or at least that's how I like to interpret it.
The arrival of spring, with its breathtaking blooms and foliage, has reminded me to pay attention to things I tend to take for granted—things like a warm breeze, or the smell in the air after a refreshing spring rain. When I think about the things I often take for granted, I think about my dad.
In 2011, my father was diagnosed with lung cancer. It was a very aggressive type of cancer, the kind where the doctors let you know (as gently as possible) that you've got anywhere from months to only a few years (if you’re lucky) left on this planet. As it turns out, it was months for my dad…three months, to be exact. During those three months, I learned a lot from watching him. However, the thing that sticks with me the most is to make time to be still and appreciate the things we take for granted daily.
I believe that when someone is dying, they see things differently than the rest of us do. During those three months, my father, who loved to tinker in his garage and make things, was unable to do the things he most enjoyed. The slightest bit of exercise, even just walking to the bathroom, became difficult for him, as his lungs could no longer handle the workload. Because of this, he made his way around in a wheelchair. Those activities he had previously enjoyed so much were no longer a priority. I'll never forget the one thing he always wanted to do: sit on the front porch. That's right, he simply wanted to go out there, rest, be still, look at the birds and the trees, breathe in the fresh air, and enjoy God's handiwork. Sitting on the front porch, doing absolutely nothing, was his form of entertainment.
I often look back and think about this. I think about how much Dad treasured the sunshine and the quiet. I imagine that he thought about his life and all the things he wanted to do that he'd never get to do. He'd always dreamed of visiting Australia. I think, before he got sick, he was hoping to finally find that one special person he could spend the rest of his days with. Yet even knowing he'd never get to see the Australian Outback, or find love again, the only thing he ever voiced any regret over was, "I wish I had been a better father." To this, I replied, "You are a good father, and you did your best; besides, we weren't the best children, either."
Even though my dad passed away in the fall, spring is the season that brings back these memories for me. I look at the birds and the flowers, and I remember that the only thing my dad wanted to do was sit on the front porch. When I wake up in the morning, I am reminded to be thankful that I am healthy enough to do things like walk to the bathroom, go to work every day, and take deep breaths into my lungs without experiencing any pain. I still have time to spend with the people I love and every day presents a new opportunity to be kind to someone.
My dad thought I should be a journalist. When I decided to major in Psychology instead of journalism, he was disappointed. Later, I ventured even further away from writing, when I studied Accounting. I hope that he knows that I'm back where I belong…writing. I hope he knows I wrote a book. But most of all, I hope that he knows that because of him, I will always remember to "stop and smell the roses."
The arrival of spring, with its breathtaking blooms and foliage, has reminded me to pay attention to things I tend to take for granted—things like a warm breeze, or the smell in the air after a refreshing spring rain. When I think about the things I often take for granted, I think about my dad.
In 2011, my father was diagnosed with lung cancer. It was a very aggressive type of cancer, the kind where the doctors let you know (as gently as possible) that you've got anywhere from months to only a few years (if you’re lucky) left on this planet. As it turns out, it was months for my dad…three months, to be exact. During those three months, I learned a lot from watching him. However, the thing that sticks with me the most is to make time to be still and appreciate the things we take for granted daily.
I believe that when someone is dying, they see things differently than the rest of us do. During those three months, my father, who loved to tinker in his garage and make things, was unable to do the things he most enjoyed. The slightest bit of exercise, even just walking to the bathroom, became difficult for him, as his lungs could no longer handle the workload. Because of this, he made his way around in a wheelchair. Those activities he had previously enjoyed so much were no longer a priority. I'll never forget the one thing he always wanted to do: sit on the front porch. That's right, he simply wanted to go out there, rest, be still, look at the birds and the trees, breathe in the fresh air, and enjoy God's handiwork. Sitting on the front porch, doing absolutely nothing, was his form of entertainment.
I often look back and think about this. I think about how much Dad treasured the sunshine and the quiet. I imagine that he thought about his life and all the things he wanted to do that he'd never get to do. He'd always dreamed of visiting Australia. I think, before he got sick, he was hoping to finally find that one special person he could spend the rest of his days with. Yet even knowing he'd never get to see the Australian Outback, or find love again, the only thing he ever voiced any regret over was, "I wish I had been a better father." To this, I replied, "You are a good father, and you did your best; besides, we weren't the best children, either."
Even though my dad passed away in the fall, spring is the season that brings back these memories for me. I look at the birds and the flowers, and I remember that the only thing my dad wanted to do was sit on the front porch. When I wake up in the morning, I am reminded to be thankful that I am healthy enough to do things like walk to the bathroom, go to work every day, and take deep breaths into my lungs without experiencing any pain. I still have time to spend with the people I love and every day presents a new opportunity to be kind to someone.
My dad thought I should be a journalist. When I decided to major in Psychology instead of journalism, he was disappointed. Later, I ventured even further away from writing, when I studied Accounting. I hope that he knows that I'm back where I belong…writing. I hope he knows I wrote a book. But most of all, I hope that he knows that because of him, I will always remember to "stop and smell the roses."
