DARE TO BE GREAT – Step 3: ELIMINATE THE OBSTACLES
Now that you've identified the obstacles that stand in your way, it's time to eliminate them. Of course that's easier said than done. Not even the Morris Method of Creative Risk-taking can simply banish the neuroses that many of us have carried around for a lifetime. Without meeting each of you in person, I couldn't hope to undo the years of parental programming, societal conditioning, and negative thinking that you undoubtedly suffer from. So I'm asking you not to believe that I can resolve your insecurities, but to pretend you believe.
Let me explain. Psychologists know that not only can your beliefs affect your behaviour, but your behaviour can also affect your beliefs. It stands to reason, then, that if you pretend to believe that your insecurities are gone -- if you act as if your insecurities are gone -- then abracadabra, your insecurities will be gone! Or at least diminished enough to deal with in a firm and courageous manner.
Let's say your major insecurity is a social one: you believe you have an overly strong need for approval. Naturally, you find it very difficult to break out of the mold, to do something bold and daring, because you are afraid people will disapprove. Well, consider this. When you make a change of any sort, depart from the status quo in any way, the people around you will have one of many possible responses:
i) Some of them will not notice anything. These are the people, alas, usually men, who are so absorbed in more important matters, like business, high finance, and professional wrestling, that they have no time to notice your new facial tattoo.
ii) Some of them will notice that something is different, but they won't know what it is. How often have you worn a dazzling new dress only to have someone you know quite well scratch his head and say, "Did you do something different to your hair?"
iii) Some of them will notice the difference, but they won't care. If the change you've made is not in another person's area of interest (i.e., their own area of insecurity) then they will react to it with genuine indifference. They don't care, so why should their opinion matter to you?
iv) Some of them will notice the difference, and they will approve of it. Now this is getting interesting. Perhaps you're afraid to quit your job for fear of what people will think. In fact, the reaction may be one of admiration and possibly envy that you have done what they would like to!
v) Some of them will notice the difference, and they will disapprove of it, but they will be people you don't respect anyway. If your catty alcoholic neighbour disapproves of your new boyfriend, who really cares? Are you going to let her hold you back, or are you going to dare to be great?
vi) And finally, there may be one or two people remaining who notice, disapprove, and whose opinion actually matters to you. Screw 'em. They'll get over it.
You can see that all the disapproval you've been imagining really boils down to one or two people who matter to you, who care about you and who want you to succeed, whether or not they happen to agree with a given decision or action. So look again at your list of insecurities. Resolve to pretend they don't exist. And change your behaviour accordingly.
If you have an insecurity about public speaking, pretend you don't . Ask yourself, "if I were good at public speaking, how would I behave?" You might answer that you would volunteer to give little talks now and then, you would be charming and witty, you would be graceful with your body language, and persuasive with your arguments. Now go ahead and practise that behaviour. Remember! Some people won't notice... some people won't care... but the ones who matter want you to succeed. Go for it!
***
Dr. Lana B. Morris was beginning to sound a lot like Marlene, Everly thought; they both possessed a breathtaking sense of moral certitude that made argument impossible. She sighed. She would call the policeman. She would call and invite him to accompany her to the school grad dance, which she had volunteered to chaperone some time ago. And if people she cared about disapproved, or thought he was too short or thought it was too soon after Simon, then screw'em. They'd get over it.
She picked up the phone and dialed his number, and had barely enough time to think of her opening words when his voice said in her ear, "Hello, is George there?" She blinked, nonplused. "Uh, no, but I think... did I... is this...?"
He chortled. "Sorry; just a little gag I like to play on the guys. Really throws them. Is this Everly, I hope?"
"Yes, it is. I got your --"
"I'm really glad you called, Everly. I hope you don't think I was too forward with the note there?"
Well, no, not at all, I --"
"Can I take you to dinner some night this week, Everly?"
"Well, sure, that would be --"
"Friday night?"
"Oh, I thought we could go to -- my school has -- I'm a teacher and I'm one of the chaperones at our grad dance on Friday --" She was babbling now.
"Perfect. What time shall I pick you up, Everly?"
"Oh, maybe six -- er -- seven-thirty?"
"I'll be there. And I'll have my dancing shoes on."
"Fine. So, I'll --"
"See you then, Everly. I'm really looking forward to this." And he hung up.
She shook her head, still catching up with the conversation. OK, that went well. She'd barely uttered a complete sentence, but the deed was done, the date was on. The next day a single tiger lily, tall and striking in shades of apricot and cream, was delivered to her door. The note said, 'Tiger Lily, I think of you.'
***
Tom Sharp was a chemistry teacher at Sandy Hill. He was quiet and pale, and his prominent nose jutted out far enough from his face to seem to be leading the rest of his body through the halls. A longish brush cut above, and receding chin below, swept back from his nose and gave him the profile of a shark, and the nickname to match. It was fortunate that Everly mustered up her courage when she did, for it enabled her to tell Tom that she already had a date, when he offered to escort her to the dance. He was a very nice man for a Bunsen burners and beakers type, but she had no wish to get into a sticky social situation with a colleague from school -- not even in the last weeks of the year.
For his part, Tom was crushed. He had been smitten with Everly since he first came to the school nine months earlier, and her sudden reclassification as unattached and available had jolted his romantic daydreams into the realm of possibility. He had waited the shortest time possible, he felt, before asking her out, but now it appeared someone else had been less mannerly than he, and had scooped the prize. Bravely, he forced a smile, and hoped aloud that Everly might spare him a dance on Friday night.
Sharon, too, offered to pick Everly up for the dance, and seemed taken aback at the news of the date. "That was quick," she said, and Everly blushed. "But I guess there's no point brooding about the past." She looked concerned, and Everly wondered if this was merely her habitual I'm-very-disappointed-in-you principal reflex, or a genuine reflection of how she felt. But the following day, and for the rest of the week, Sharon was her usual amiable self.
***
Everly was drumming her fingers on the door of the wardrobe. She wasn't going to wear something seductive -- there was no question of sex on a first date. Actually there was no question of a second date -- Constable Olsen was too macho, not refined enough, too short. She wouldn't be seeing him at all if it weren't for the book. It was almost comical to think of the two of them naked together -- his fuzzy little buzz cut would come up to about her chest. She could probably fit his whole head between her -- well, that line of thought was going nowhere. Maybe the old beige bra and undies, just as a security measure. Even if she completely lost her head, she wouldn't be caught dead in those ones in a romantic situation. They would be a guarantee of sober second thought, a sexual senate, so to speak. She absentmindedly took out a frothy peach-coloured bra and skimpy briefs, brand new and deliciously soft, and put them on the bed as she contemplated the rest of her outfit.
It was to be elegant, this dance, and she knew most of the female students would be wearing floor-length gowns. Last year, not wishing to appear too worldly among the sixteen and seventeen-year-olds, she had worn a loose floral gown, simple and unassuming. She wouldn't make that mistake twice. The same girls who showed up for class in shapeless jeans and oversized sweaters had transformed themselves into sophisticated and sultry young women, dressed in garments that would not look out of place in a James Bond casino scene. Everly had felt positively adolescent in comparison.
This year, she had worn a dress to Simon's office Christmas party which she thought would also do nicely for the dance. It was black, with a modestly scooped neckline and sequined bodice, and a snug bolero jacket on top. At the Christmas party she had kept the jacket on all evening; tonight she would remove it when the dancing began. She would be poised and elegant -- tastefully made up and beautifully coiffed. She would be cool and unruffled, in short, she would be everything she had not been in her previous encounters with Constable Olsen. Yes, dignity would be the watchword for the evening.
She had just finished shaving one leg when the buzzer rang. She stopped. Impossible, she thought. It must be someone selling door to door, despite the No Soliciting sign at the front. Another buzz, more persistent. Cursing, she stepped out of the tub, dripping water across the floor as she ran to the intercom. "Hello?"
"Hi Everly, it's Arne."
"Arne?"
"Arne Olsen. Your date."
"I know who it is, but you're early!"
"Six-thirty -- on the button!"
"I said seven-thirty!" A pause, while Arne checked his notebook and Everly fumed.
"My mistake! I'll just wait here in the lobby for you."
Everly sighed. "Oh, come up and wait here," she said, jabbing the entry button with a wet finger. She left the door slightly open, so he could let himself in, and hurried back to the bathroom. Unbelievable.
Arne was up in a flash, apologetic and charming. "Don't hurry," he called, "I'll just mop up this water for you while I'm waiting."
Everly scowled and turned off the shower; at least she had washed before he arrived. She had not brought her clothes into the bathroom with her though, so she wrapped a towel around her body and another around her head and waited until the sound of his voice indicated that he had gone into the kitchen. It would take him a minute to find the paper towel, she thought, and in that time she could dart across the hall into the bedroom.
"Oops, excuse me, didn't mean to sneak up on you -- I didn't see any paper towel."
He gave a low whistle. "You are one good-looking woman. But I think you forgot a leg." His keen eye missed nothing.
Humiliated, Everly turned and stalked back into the bathroom, shutting the door with emphasis. The man was insufferable.
Twenty minutes later she reemerged, stubble-free, hair dried, makeup on. Arne had tactfully retired to the living room, and she was able to cross into the bedroom with modesty intact. She dressed quickly, sprayed a shot of perfume into the air above her head, and picked up her evening bag. Inhale, two, three; exhale, two, three. She stepped into the sexy black high heels and entered the living room with enormous dignity.
***
The decorating committee had outdone themselves in the gymnasium. With "Reach for the Stars" as their graduating theme, they had folded hundreds of origami stars out of silver paper and hung them with clear fishing line around the walls. Round tables and white chairs had been rented, and tiny silver star sequins were sprinkled on the white linen tablecloths. An armful of white lilacs wrapped in billowy tulle adorned each table, and the fragrance was almost visible as it drifted across the room. With the lights dimmed and tea candles in glass holders twinkling everywhere, the effect was magical.
Everly and Arne made their way to the teachers' table and greeted the other chaperones. Sharon was there with her husband, and the phys ed teacher with his wife. Tom Sharp was unaccompanied. He nodded pleasantly to Arne and complimented Everly on her dress. No one remarked on the shoes. Functions like these were deadly, usually, since the spouses and dates did not know each other sufficiently to enjoy amusing conversation, but Everly saw at once that Arne was adept at small talk. Within minutes he had the table laughing as he segued from the room's decorations to the live music to a droll story about a local restaurateur who had chased off a burglar with a corkscrew. Sharon in particular seemed to be appreciating the anecdote, and this pleased Everly; she had worried that Sharon might feel some residual loyalty to Simon that would keep her from warming up to Arne. She relaxed, and began to enjoy the evening.
Some time later, Arne had moved on to the unofficial roadside sobriety test -- "That's right sir, walk heel-to-toe along the yellow line, with one hand on your hip and the other on the back of your head." Tom was innocently following Arne's instructions, demonstrating the manoeuvre with a wonderfully effeminate sashay, and the rest of the table was in stitches. Everly wiped her eyes, much amused by the wicked police prank and grateful to Arne for having saved her from it. She rose and left the table, still smiling, and headed for the ladies' room to check her mascara.
The washrooms were around the corner and down the hallway from the gymnasium, and Everly had already patrolled for illicit smoking earlier that evening. Now, however, she saw a small group clustered tensely around the door, and she quickened her step. She could see Maggie Mason, ravishing in a nose ring and a lime green dress, eyeing Jeffrey Sinclair in a hostile manner. Her date, a bulky football player from another school, had his fists clenched, and Jeffrey was bouncing from foot to foot in front of him, tapping his nose with a finger, and looking as mean as a boy with freckles could look.
"Want to pop me one, big guy?"
"Shut up."
"Can't take a joke, big guy?"
"Don't push me, little man."
Jeffrey waggled his head back and forth, an irresistible target for the ready fist, and Everly chose this unfortunate moment to step between them.
"Boys!" she said, as the football player let fly and hammered her on the mouth. Maggie screamed, her date gasped, Jeffrey yelped, and Everly skidded backward into the wall, lip bleeding.
Around the corner and across the gym, Arne Olsen interrupted himself in the middle of a sentence and bolted to his feet. He ran toward the sound of the scream and within 26 seconds he had located the situation, assessed the damage, positioned the big guy up against the wall, and gently lowered Everly into a chair. Somebody handed him a wet paper towel and he dabbed at her lip.
"I'm OK, really." Everly's lip was swelling fast, but the damage was minimal. "It was an accident."
He looked up at the teenagers. "I hope you boys are proud of yourselves." The two boys looked miserable.
He smoothed her hair. "Will you be wanting to press charges?" he asked tenderly. The boys looked horrified.
"No, no, of course not. They didn't mean to."
"You're a brave woman, Everly," he said, and she would have laughed if it weren't for the lip.
The evening might have ended then, but Everly chose to stay. The boys apologized and slunk off, the chaperones made a fuss and brought her cups of punch with lots of ice, and students stopped by frequently to inquire about her health. She even danced, later on, leaving her shoes and jacket on for Tom; taking them off for Arne. He was not as short as she had thought; his head came nicely to her chin and his breath sent warm tickles down her neck. At midnight he saw her home, kissed her lightly on the uninjured side of her mouth, and departed. She was almost sorry to see him go.
The next day, a dozen yellow roses, and a few days after that, another single tiger lily. The man was no slouch in the flower department.