A Quarter Life... Awakening?

"You have to be willing to look ridiculous. That’s half of comedy, and maybe more than half of life." – Rachel Dratch

The Age

Today, I turn twenty-five.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned so far, it’s that life is built to embarrass you.

When I was twelve, my English teacher told me:

“You’re emotional. You feel everything. It’ll make your life harder, but infinitely rewarding.”

She was right.

Twelve-year-old me laughed too loudly, cried too easily, and embarrassed himself every day. He didn’t armor himself against feeling; he didn’t edit himself down to something manageable. He let life move through him, unguarded and unapologetic.

Somewhere along the way, I started trying to kill that part of myself.

I trained myself in aloofness, becoming an overly self-conscious perfectionist. I believed embarrassment was dangerous and that avoiding it could keep me safe.

But this year has shown me that life isn’t a test you pass by being perfect.

It’s an experience meant to undo you—and, if you’re lucky, humiliate you beyond repair.

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The Enemy

Last month, I went to a party alone. I introduced myself to a group of strangers, but all I got were blank stares. I cracked a joke, only to be met with more silence.

The air felt heavy with discomfort. I stumbled over a few words for what felt like an eternity, and was promptly shoulder-checked out of the circle. Humiliated, I slipped away to the bathroom.

That’s when I heard it. The voice. The one that’s been with me forever, whispering:

They didn’t want to talk to you because you’re ugly. You’re not cool. You’re embarrassing.

I know that voice well.
It’s the voice of my perfectionism.

It’s the part of me that would rather die inside than ever risk making a fool of itself. It monitors my skin, measures my weight, and wields a ruler over my worth. It believes control equals safety. It fears emotional exposure.

But later that night, I watched the same group from across the room. They stood stiff, arms crossed, refusing to engage with anyone.

Instead of letting the voice take over again, I laughed—not at them, but at myself.
I laughed at how angry my mind had been over a little embarrassment, and at how seriously it had taken the disinterest of strangers.

This moment cracked my armor just enough for me to feel the power in my own embarrassment and the emptiness in taking myself too seriously.

Aloofness might shield us from discomfort, but it starves us of feeling.

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The Risk

Taking risks and sitting in the uncomfortable emotions they bring is why I’m here.

These moments offer themselves everywhere:

• Sending the first text after a date

• Bombing the punchline of a joke

• Waving hello to someone who doesn’t wave back

• Picking up an old hobby at twenty-five and being terrible at it

• Showing up at a party where I don’t know anyone

• Reaching out to someone after years of silence

• Sharing my art, my writing, my dreams, and letting them be seen

• Saying “I love you” first

• Going on dates, even when the weight around my waist fluctuates, or never-ending breakouts cover my face

Without risking embarrassment, life will flatten into something safe but unbearably small. Everything I will ever want demands that I risk embarrassment.

Not once, but a million times.

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The Goal

At twenty-five, I’m learning to stop treating embarrassment like the enemy and to enjoy the feeling instead. To love when I stumble over a word, go red in the face, or hear my voice quiver.

It means I’m alive.

It's easy to sit alone, analyzing your flaws and building armor to never look foolish. It’s much harder to love yourself in the moments when you feel most exposed, when your imperfections are on display.

This weekend I went to a psychic for the first time.

She told me, “You feel the highs and lows of emotion. You try to control this, but you shouldn't.”

I smiled, a birthday gift from my past self.

I know I’ll never fully silence the voice of perfectionism or dull the intensity with which I feel.

But I don’t need to.

There’s freedom in living without the constraints others place on you, but an even deeper freedom in removing the constraints you place on yourself.

I will not spend my life building walls around my heart to avoid the risk of humiliation. I will keep embarrassing myself, over and over again.

Because the goal of life isn’t to be perfect. It’s to let it break you

Life doesn’t want your perfection. It wants your participation.

And sometimes, participating looks a lot like falling apart—and loving yourself anyway.

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Thanks for reading.

As always, stay curious.