Shy

I’ve spent way too many years being afraid to put myself forward.

In college, I was terrified to make a presentation in political science class, something that seemed to come so easy for those animated politicos. I didn’t major in psychology because you had to do a senior project and I didn’t think I could come up with a topic!

As a young mother, I rarely ventured an opinion in social settings because what I had to say seemed stupid or obvious and I would just embarrass myself. I made career decisions based on my shyness: no teaching for me, thank you. The idea of leading a class day after day scared the bejeezus out of me.

In committee life, my nightmare scenario was when the leader of a group would ask participants to go around the room and introduce themselves. This didn’t seem to bother anyone but me. They would go on and on about themselves, witty, self-possessed, effortless in their self-revelations. Typically I would be one of the last in the circle, doubly pressed for time by the fact that previous participants had gone on for so long. As it came close to my turn, my heart would pound and I could feel a flush of red climbing up my neck into my face. Then I would say something, anything, to get my turn over with. Not anything that would help people really get to know me. Or worse, something completely wrong, the opposite of what I intended to say.

Through the years I’ve learned to cope—I had to. My career in publishing demanded confident self-presentation and self-confident presentations, and, as it happens, publishing led me to the help I needed. A breakthrough came on an author-scouting expedition when I encountered a Penn State professor of communications, Gerald M. Phillips, who had written little book called Help for Shy People. I found a used copy in the campus bookstore and read it eagerly. Gerry taught me to prepare and practice. It was a chore, and more than my glib colleagues had to do, but it worked!

I drew on what I discoverd were my strengths: writing and organizing. I crafted presentations to have good beginnings, transitions, and distinct endings, and actually rehearsed them, much as I hated that part of it. I developed a repertoire of stories I could share when taking prospective authors to dinner. When I became a manager, I prepared and practiced little speeches to make when one of my editors would retire.

Yesterday I made a presentation to a roomful of master gardeners, about a hundred of them, with only a mental rehearsal of the script. A nice woman came up afterward to ask if I would speak to her garden club this summer. I said yes.

I still don’t talk easily about my personal thoughts and feelings. And I still have trouble with the self-introductions in a group, especially when I’m one of the last to speak.

But I’m coming along. Let’s see what progress this 67th year brings.