On self doubt and sweaty palms

An anecdote about a cringey thing I did and some reflections on pushing through anyway

It’s a Wednesday in March and I decide to take myself to a coffee shop to write before I start my workday, as I do from time to time. I walk into one of my usual spots, a place I know I’ll be able to focus and enjoy a latte while writing and working. Oat milk, this time—a rare deviation for me, but I am recovering from a cold, after all.

It’s early, just ten or so minutes after 8a.m., but the two-top tables are already taken and so I take a seat at the large communal table in the back. I am still a little sleepy and not quite ready to dive in and write, so I set a timer for ten minutes and whip out my crossword book—an analog habit I picked up that I really love.

There’s a conversation happening at a table nearby¹ that I can hear pretty clearly. That sounds like a business chat, I think, based on how these women are being friendly but formal with each other. I start to tune them out, which is something my ADHD brain is really good at.

I would love to work with you, I hear one say, befor…