Sunday Confessional: I'm an Adult Underachiever

"Hi. My name is Marybeth. And I'm an adult underachiever."

"Hi, Marybeth." (You know you thought it, even if you didn't say it.)

If you're reading this, there's a good chance that you know me personally. That's because right now, there aren't a lot of people who read my blog who don't share my last name or DNA.

So if you know me ... if you know my life ... you probably have no idea why I see myself as an underachiever.
 
I'm a wife and mother of four boys. (Many people probably think I should stop there. I truly believe there is a special place in heaven for the mother of boys. It is quiet and clean and full of breakable things and scented candles.)




I started my own business at age 24, and sold it at 30.

I took it back 3 1/2 years ago when it was on the verge of collapse and nursed it back to health.

I volunteer with my church and counsel people going through financial difficulties.

And every now and then, I write amusing blogs about cleaning my office.

What do you mean underachiever? Compared to whom?

Well ... compared to me. Or at least the younger version of me.

When I was young, adults tossed around words like precocious and brilliant. My teachers thought I was destined for greatness, and they told me so. Frequently! High school was a cake walk, and I got a full-ride academic scholarship to college.

In my finalist interview for the scholarship, I had the audacity to tell them that I would be the youngest editor-in-chief of the Washington Post. My parents thought I'd be president. My drama coach thought I might end up in Hollywood ... or anchoring the evening news. Because you know, they really do require the same skill set.

Life was good.

I, however, was a jerk.

I was extraordinarily insecure, so I masked it with cockiness. My mother had a newspaper clipping on her office bulletin board that said, "Boys don't make passes at a girl who surpasses." Yep. That was my so-called life.

So what happened? How did I go from teenage rockstar to adult underachiever? What happened to the girl who would be president?

She got scared.
Scared that being a jerk might become a permanent character trait.
Scared that she might not live up to the hype.
Scared that anything short of greatness was really failure.

So she played it safe. She went corporate instead of to the Post. She stopped writing fiction, and she stopped acting.

But I'm tired of playing it safe. I'm tired of being an adult underachiever. I'm trying to resurrect some of that girl who got lost along the way.

I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to write about it while I do it. I'm hoping that this blog will allow me to chronicle how I transition from phase one of my adult life to phase two. From safe to scary.

And maybe ... just maybe ... I'll find out that it's never to late to stop listening to the voices in my head telling me that I'm not as good as everyone thought I was when I was a kid.

"Hi. I'm Marybeth. And I'm a writer."

Finish Well.