Imposters!

…one and all.

We might well be imposters, or think of ourselves as imposters so much it becomes true.

It doesn’t take much rumination for me to come to the conclusion I’m an imposter on many fronts: Parenting (what the heck do I know about that, a life-critical role that I fake my way through); Teaching (really, there’s a lot of science to this, but how does anyone really measure learning and teaching?); Husbanding (if that were a word, it would not well describe me, for I have flashes of love out there but who would really be able to be good at spousing/loving?).

It’s like someone needs to “write the book” on these topics, show us the way, present the definitive word on things so we can look up to them as experts. So very many topics invite us to blunder through them and act as if we’re experts.

Maybe that’s a better take on it:

Act as if.

Assume a virtue if you have it not.

Think it. Do it. Be it.

All this sounds much better than being an imposter.

And what’s the deal about being an imposter? Well, for me much of it has to do with the constant threat of being revealed to be less than advertised. The chink in my armor is leaving me naked. I am exposed. A fraud.

Of course, most of the time this fear is unfounded. Many of us spend decades working in our subjects, trades, etc. When we hang out our shingle that we’re experts at something, it may or may not suggest Gladwell’s 10,000 hours of practice, but it likely has degrees or certificates or hundreds of failures and successes behind it.

Imposters seem sinister, too. Shysters. Those pulling the wool over the eyes of the innocent.

I think more positively that maybe I’m a poser.

Maybe I am constantly becoming. I’m an eternal apprentice.

I am aspiring.

There. That’s much better isn’t it.

If ever I am confronted, “Hey, Bub, you’re not a real author, now are ya?”

I can say: “Ah, you caught me there. I’m an aspiring author, you know, like most people. I am inspired to ever-improve. Aren’t you?”

Well, aren’t you?