I am not naturally confident. Never have been. When I set out to do a thing—anything—I always fight a world war with myself.
I'll never be able to do this.
No matter what I do, I'll fail.
I'm not fill-in-the-blank-enough to make this work.
Tackling any task means resetting my thinking, pretty much every day. Sometimes, multiple times a day.
I went to my Rotary meeting Tuesday morning—Rotary, I mean, old, clueless people who don't know anything hip that's going on—and everyone was atwitter over a certain musical starlet's butt at the VMA's. I slurped my coffee and listened to my table mate yo-yo between horror at what this phenomenon will do to his innocent daughter and horniness at what it did to him.
I love to tell people what to do. I relished it in public accounting, when I advised clients on tax saving strategies. I excelled at it when I ran a multi-million dollar law firm, even though attorneys.......well, they like to be asked, not told. I built my consulting firm around telling clients what to do to make more money.
I've spent my entire professional career being the real Bossypants.
Four hours. That is how long it took me to drive the boring interstate highways between Charleston, SC and Raleigh, NC. I even got up early
East Cooper Breakfast Rotary raised a lot of money for charity last night. A lot of margarita-infused Rotarians. Because Rotarians are cool. And hip. And generous.