A gold crown fastened atop the bun.
Sequins sparkling, yellow tutu swishing back and forth.
Ready to take the spotlight and dance.
Not a doubt in my mind that I’d do a wonderful job.
That I was a perfect ballerina.
I was the same age that my oldest is now.
And I see that same excitement in him, that same confidence.
Not in ballet, of course.
But in the way that he thinks he can do anything, the way that he gets excited over being a part of things: or how he thinks he’s the star in his own show.
I hope he keeps that confidence.
That he always feels assured that he will kick ass at whatever he tries(though I hope he doesn’t say it like that until he’s much older).
That total self-belief is hard to hang onto as we get older.
We see others who can do things better than we can, we worry about how we’ll perform, and if we’re good enough.
And we don’t want to appear too cocky, so sometimes we downplay our own abilities.
But confidence can carry you a long way. It can be the difference in succeeding and failing.
Though I’ve managed to reclaim a lot of my own self-confidence and even learned that it’s okay to fake it(and oh, can I fake confidence), I have never quite captured that same fearlessness of that tiara’ed seven year-old.
Maybe if I start wearing a tiara again….
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