Lessons in Mansplaining
Or, learning you don't need to prove you're amazing.
Several months ago, I had agreed to speak at an event my friend had organized. As per usual, there is an opportunity to network, which meant a bunch of strangers got to stand around, drink in hand, looking for somebody “interesting” to speak to.
By interesting, I mean someone who networking attendees think is important and helps them crush it in their career. You know, those types of conversations where you hand over your business cards, play this dance/mating game of what’s your job title and here are my many accolades and general all-around patting themselves on the back. All for the chance for the person at the other end of the conversation to feel so impressed they’ll circle back and continue the conversation after the event is over.
Don’t get me wrong - it’s fun to meet new people and learn about all their interesting quirks and be inspired by their creative projects. I once met someone working on a podcast about heavy metal fans who also love to play Minecraft (if you’re reading this, hello!) and we ended up chatting for almost an hour.
Then, there are those who look at me like it’s an opportunity to talk about their projects as if I’m immediately some raptured audience member.
About five minutes after showing up for said event, a taller man in a button up shirt and silver cufflinks stands in front of me and stares.
I say hi.
He says hi.
He tries to look for my name tag.
I told him my name.
He’s still looking at my name tag.
I told him that I write and produce podcasts.
He asks what companies I work for.
I start to tell him when he puffs out his chest and interrupts me, talking about his show.
I listen.
He proceeds to talk about all the downloads he has and other external markers of success I think I’m supposed to marvel at.
At this point, it seems totally fair that I’d be mad, or bored, or try to walk backwards slowly hoping to be near the food table with the fried chicken and brownies so I could eat (my stomach was also screaming for help, it needed provisions). But like a masochist, I stayed and got to hear the story about how he came up with his podcast idea and suggestions on names I could offer my clients.
After what felt like 659 million minutes later, someone I knew walked around with a tray of fried chicken and stopped in front of us. Grabbing several pieces, I bit into them as gracefully as I could (let’s be real, the words “graceful” and “fried chicken” don’t mix).
She looks at the man talking to me, smiles and says “are you looking forward to tonight’s talk?
He nods.
She tells him it’s going to be epic.
He agrees.
She looks over to me and asks “I can’t wait to hear you speak.”
He looks at me.
I look at him.
He asks “you’re the speaker?”
I nod.
With his mouth wide open and eyes bugged out, he asks me why I didn’t say anything to him.
Before I had a chance to answer, my friend, the event organizer, calls out to all the attendees. I walk up to the front of the room and deliver my talk.
Dearests, if you’re on Substack and like what you’re reading on Searching For Enough please consider recommending this publication. Your readers can come to a safe space where in a world asking you to strive for more, I help them champion for living life on their own terms by listening to and acting on your inner voice.
I suppose I could have taken the time to find that person again and explain I’m damn good at what I do, and all the ways in which I deserved a seat at the table. Maybe it could have saved him a lot of time by spelling out exactly what it is I do on my name tag. I could have put my job (freelance writer) and maybe even the writing awards I’ve won (two in fact, thankyouverymuch).
Here’s the rub: why?
Why do I need to prove that I’m interesting enough? Why can’t we try to have a conversation with someone new and approach it from a place of curiosity? Do we have to leave every interaction with some arbitrary result, like what will we “get out” of it?
These days, I’m much more interested in showing up as a human, and learning about what other people are doing. I’m happy where I am in terms of my career. What I’m doing is enough. Yes, I may be the odd duck out, but I rather be seen as a fully fleshed out human, instead of a long list of accolades.
Maybe, one of these days, that guy with his impressive download numbers and umpteenth suggestions on podcast titles will feel the same way. Fancy titles are great, but it’s not a requirement for you to be worthy.
Your existence is enough.