We have no idea how good we are
to ourselves when we’re being good
to other people.
Today I not only met one of my heroes
I told her how good I thought she was.
(The truth, of course).
Her reply was that me and my compliment
had arrived at the end of a day when she’d
had a crisis of confidence.
I laughed at the thought that she could
have such a thing – when all I’d seen and heard
and read was magic; some of the best journalism
this country has ever produced. She thanked me
for showing an interest and taking the time to care
and I couldn’t believe my luck. I left from the
conversation elated. Punch-drunk, almost. On a contact
high. So sure I could touch the sky, so much so that my
own impostor-syndrome was hiding at least one shadow
away. For a day. Or maybe more. It’ll return. And so will
hers. That’s how we’re wired. That’s the way it works.
But for right now I’m pretty happy.
I hope she is too. It must have been good – I told my
family all about it – and they never even asked what
I was getting paid.
That too – in some sense – made my day.
Even though, technically,