I’ve been doing some work with executives in my company, which requires me to get into a particular floor to access a particular conference room. Every time I go to a meeting, I have to wait in the hallway and hope someone sees me to let me in on time.
One day, my executive leader saw me from the interior window and let me in. She had a puzzled expression on her face.
“You can’t get in?” she said.
“No,” I answered. In my head, I added, “I didn’t even try because I assumed I wouldn’t have access because I don’t belong here.”
As I busied myself in the conference room setting up my laptop I remembered a recent exchange with my online friend, martial artist teacher, and feel-good content creator Ando Mierzwa. I’d commented on a post he made about confidence and confessed that I too often played small at life.
“Play big!” he encouraged me.
“I think it’s time I start playing big,” I thought to myself in the conference room.
I am about to turn forty-five and have played small for much of that time. I’ve allowed people to mistreat me, bully me, abuse me, ignore me, underpay me, take credit for my work, and tell me I couldn’t do what I’d set my heart on doing.
I can’t blame the world around me for my situation, though. I also killed my dreams and confidence by sins of omission–not taking certain chances or choices, or not speaking out about what I really wanted.
My life, for the most part, has turned out to be pretty great, despite my delayed confidence and self-respect. Sometimes it’s easier to ruminate on the things that didn’t happen rather than relish the good things that did. But things have gotten better year after year. Some of that is naturally gaining and applying maturity and wisdom over the years. Much of it has been “doing the work,” whether that was going to therapy, journaling and reflecting on my thoughts and feelings, or going to the dojang.
I learned to play big on the mat as a black belt. I’d like to do that more in other areas of my life.
It turns out I don’t have access to the executive floor (I tried my badge the next time I had a meeting there), and when I asked my VP about it, he said he would ask but wasn’t sure access would be approved. “The worst they can say is ‘no,'” we both said in unison with a laugh. I’m fine with waiting to be let in, but I can still walk in with my head high knowing I belong there with everyone else in the room.
Meanwhile, I was shopping my memoir around to people in the movie industry. To my utter surprise and delight, I got a response. They made it clear they weren’t promising anything, but they did say they’d pass along my book to a certain person for them to at least read. Gaining just one more reader is an author’s dream.
I was thrilled, but I also noticed how much I was subconsciously stopping my process in its tracks with limiting thoughts like…well…being utterly surprised, as if someone taking a positive interest in my writing is so foreign and unheard of it’s nearly impossible. When people do, I’m stunned and almost want to panic and hide. “No, I didn’t mean it! Don’t read it! I’ll go back to obscurity!”
I called my dad after my email exchange with the movie industry person and had to put my hand over my mouth when I wanted to say something like, “I didn’t expect this” or “If this is as far as it goes I’ll be happy.” It’s time to start playing big.
Playing big doesn’t mean I want to be conitnuously dissatsified and keep chasing the bigger carrot without moments of happiness and contentment. I can enjoy and respect what I have now while making myself emotionally available and open to life experiences beyond what I currently think is possible.
Play big. You belong here, and you deserve it.
