When I was in my 20s I genuinely believed I had a shot at going to the next Olympics and representing Team GB in archery. I was ABSOLUTELY adamant I was a natural Katniss Everdean.
Bought a block of 6 lessons and nearly shot the instructor. Crashed down to earth with zero grace.
Yep. When my friends asked me ‘Guess who was watching you?’ I thought there was an Olympic scout at my sports day when I won and took a new school record at high jump.
We were at a tiny military school in the Mediterranean. Team GB were not scouting in my neck of the woods…..their lose.
I think I could have survived Pompeii. I’d have been smart enough to get out of there as soon as the giant mountain next to my town started spewing smoke. I could either swim away or charm my way onto a boat, then once you’re on the water you’re laughing.
Like Lady Catherine de Bourgh in Pride and Prejudice, on the subject of playing the piano: "If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient."
This is absolutely me... I've been secretly amazing at so many things over the years. I was an undiscovered very talented actress, until my gcse drama teacher burst into laughter at my performance of delivering a very serious dramatic line in a tragedy 🙈 I think the only thing I still hold any slight delusion about is being amazing at writing poetry, only because I've never shared it with anyone so no-one can tell me otherwise 😅 (in truth I suspect I just sound like an angsty emo teenager who never grew up!)
I am sure I am a natural born sailor. Of ships ships with sails and ropes and all that. Mainly based on the fact I like the sea and swimming? The fact that I get horribly sea sick and am very bad at both knots and directions has never dissuaded me.
You also should note your DIY successes - building that tractor and the cabinet should encourage the self belief.
When I was 8, I decided I would be married, have two children, own several dogs, be a world leading lawyer, a global peace maker (because clearly I had more expertise and diplomacy skills than everyone else ever), be an award winning writer and world class singer with a house in both New York and London. All of this was to be achieved by the time I was 12.
At the age of 33, I have achieved exactly one of these things.
I’ve always thought I could be a really good hostage negotiator, even sometimes when you watch the professionals on 24hrs in police custody, I think Nahh that’s not how you should do that
I’m with you in the secret Dr Doolittle skills, convinced I could get any wild animal to trust me. Except this theory failed when I once tried to help an injured squirrel, sure that I knew I was a friend and therefore there to help, and when I picked it up it spun round and bit me on the knuckle. Squirrels’ bites are *incredibly* strong and it wouldn’t let go so for a few minutes I just had this squirrel hanging off my hand whilst I was bleeding profusely. Needless to say it did not realise I was friend not foe.
This is a ridiculous, yet shamefully true admission, despite how littered with double entendre it is when I read it back.
Last January we got some Pheasants, so I watched a YouTube tutorial on How to pluck a pheasant and thought ‘how hard card this be’. 6 hours later, I had proudly completed my challenge. Partner got home, and was very impressed that I managed having never done it before.
This January, we got two more. So me and my partner sat down and had one each to pluck. He proudly proclaimed after half an hour that he was done. In comparison, I had completed, half a leg (pheasants do not have big legs, for reference they are often smaller than chicken legs).
I had spent the last year not-so-quietly gloating about my new found countryside skill, and had even bought a wax jacket to jump two feet into this new identity.
Meanwhile my partner is giving me that look usually reserved for the dog when he has successfully caught his own tail.
All because I got an A* in Drama GCSE, I was/still am convinced that I will win an Oscar and a BAFTA for best actress. Never auditioned for anything, never attempted to be an actress, have practiced my acceptance speeches many, many times. It will all happen because someone will spot me out & about and just tell me I’ve got what it takes and offer me the best part. Humble beginnings and all that. I’m 43!
This is me except I was legit furious that I wasn't cast as Hermione when the HP films came out. Never auditioned, was blonde, so what? The casting people should have been able to sniff me out, that's how destiny works. As new books were written I felt the same with other characters. I'm 33 now and patiently waiting to hear who they've made me in the new TV series, as I go to work as a housekeeper in semi-rural west midlands.
I’m convinced I could be a reality tv star. It would just take lots of fake tan and makeup. I think I could get onto a show like Love Island, despite the fact the I’m happily married. I’m sure I could be the cuckoo in the nest. My husband very unhelpfully reminded me that I hate people and everything I think shows on my face. He doesn’t believe I could act the part.
I’ve always genuinely believed that if I’d had tennis lessons as a child I would have been amazing and gone on to win Wimbledon. Having never had a lesson this has not been disproved!
Oh you could ABSOLUTELY tame a fox. I guess so long as you didn’t sing and cripple it with anxiety. Or maybe that would help? Either way, I think you could do it. I’m feeling pretty firm in my belief, actually. I have anecdotal evidence that it isn’t particularly hard, and you’re somewhat determined in the area of ridiculous animals.
I think I have delusions of a similar scale and variety. One such is that I have been convinced, since I was around six years old, that I could be an author. I suppose of course I could, but the delusion is that I’d be good, successful, a creator of works many would wish to become lost in. Every stupid social media contest I enter with a 25 words or less answer requirement further cements this, as I regularly win small scale prizes by using my word limit to craft appallingly trite poems. Thus my mediocrity is rewarded and the delusion is fuelled. I once started writing a novel, if one can consider 1,000 words “starting”, though I promptly stopped after one hour, never to recommence. I suspect because something inside me knows that doing so would ultimately see my delusions highlighted and my silly confidence utterly demolished.
Oh also once as a young teenager my friends were all talking about the parts of them they liked the most. I panicked and said my hands, which I thought were all right, pianists hands, if you will (I do not play the paint, but I’m convinced I could). They all laughed so hard that I’ve never fully recovered and have disliked my giant hands just as much as the rest of me ever since. Which has got to be a good quarter of a century. Although sometimes I pop a ring on and think, yes my friends, you’ll do.
Share your delusions only with those who will encourage them, and you’re golden. I look forward to reading of the exceedingly positive outcome of your first gliding lesson soon.
My most niche self-belief is that I’d be amazing on those mechanical bulls you see in American films. Just given a chance everyone would be in awe and the bar owner would have to ask me to get off in order to give someone else a chance. (I have zero balance and have never excelled in any sporting activity in my life).
When I was in my 20s I genuinely believed I had a shot at going to the next Olympics and representing Team GB in archery. I was ABSOLUTELY adamant I was a natural Katniss Everdean.
Bought a block of 6 lessons and nearly shot the instructor. Crashed down to earth with zero grace.
This made me burst out laughing.
Yep. When my friends asked me ‘Guess who was watching you?’ I thought there was an Olympic scout at my sports day when I won and took a new school record at high jump.
We were at a tiny military school in the Mediterranean. Team GB were not scouting in my neck of the woods…..their lose.
I think I could have survived Pompeii. I’d have been smart enough to get out of there as soon as the giant mountain next to my town started spewing smoke. I could either swim away or charm my way onto a boat, then once you’re on the water you’re laughing.
SHUT IT DOWN. This answer has me heaving with laughter. Thank you Beth. I believe you would survive pompeii too.
Like Lady Catherine de Bourgh in Pride and Prejudice, on the subject of playing the piano: "If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient."
Love a lady catherine reference
This is absolutely me... I've been secretly amazing at so many things over the years. I was an undiscovered very talented actress, until my gcse drama teacher burst into laughter at my performance of delivering a very serious dramatic line in a tragedy 🙈 I think the only thing I still hold any slight delusion about is being amazing at writing poetry, only because I've never shared it with anyone so no-one can tell me otherwise 😅 (in truth I suspect I just sound like an angsty emo teenager who never grew up!)
I am sure I am a natural born sailor. Of ships ships with sails and ropes and all that. Mainly based on the fact I like the sea and swimming? The fact that I get horribly sea sick and am very bad at both knots and directions has never dissuaded me.
1000% I would have survived the titanic. Can’t get through writing an email without doubting every word but that icebergs ass would be mine
This is fantastic. My friend said she’d definitely “beat any serious illness” which is insane.
I laughed so hard at the fox taming.
You also should note your DIY successes - building that tractor and the cabinet should encourage the self belief.
When I was 8, I decided I would be married, have two children, own several dogs, be a world leading lawyer, a global peace maker (because clearly I had more expertise and diplomacy skills than everyone else ever), be an award winning writer and world class singer with a house in both New York and London. All of this was to be achieved by the time I was 12.
At the age of 33, I have achieved exactly one of these things.
I’ve always thought I could be a really good hostage negotiator, even sometimes when you watch the professionals on 24hrs in police custody, I think Nahh that’s not how you should do that
I’m with you in the secret Dr Doolittle skills, convinced I could get any wild animal to trust me. Except this theory failed when I once tried to help an injured squirrel, sure that I knew I was a friend and therefore there to help, and when I picked it up it spun round and bit me on the knuckle. Squirrels’ bites are *incredibly* strong and it wouldn’t let go so for a few minutes I just had this squirrel hanging off my hand whilst I was bleeding profusely. Needless to say it did not realise I was friend not foe.
This is a ridiculous, yet shamefully true admission, despite how littered with double entendre it is when I read it back.
Last January we got some Pheasants, so I watched a YouTube tutorial on How to pluck a pheasant and thought ‘how hard card this be’. 6 hours later, I had proudly completed my challenge. Partner got home, and was very impressed that I managed having never done it before.
This January, we got two more. So me and my partner sat down and had one each to pluck. He proudly proclaimed after half an hour that he was done. In comparison, I had completed, half a leg (pheasants do not have big legs, for reference they are often smaller than chicken legs).
I had spent the last year not-so-quietly gloating about my new found countryside skill, and had even bought a wax jacket to jump two feet into this new identity.
Meanwhile my partner is giving me that look usually reserved for the dog when he has successfully caught his own tail.
All because I got an A* in Drama GCSE, I was/still am convinced that I will win an Oscar and a BAFTA for best actress. Never auditioned for anything, never attempted to be an actress, have practiced my acceptance speeches many, many times. It will all happen because someone will spot me out & about and just tell me I’ve got what it takes and offer me the best part. Humble beginnings and all that. I’m 43!
This is me except I was legit furious that I wasn't cast as Hermione when the HP films came out. Never auditioned, was blonde, so what? The casting people should have been able to sniff me out, that's how destiny works. As new books were written I felt the same with other characters. I'm 33 now and patiently waiting to hear who they've made me in the new TV series, as I go to work as a housekeeper in semi-rural west midlands.
This is the level of self confidence we NEED.
I’m convinced I could be a reality tv star. It would just take lots of fake tan and makeup. I think I could get onto a show like Love Island, despite the fact the I’m happily married. I’m sure I could be the cuckoo in the nest. My husband very unhelpfully reminded me that I hate people and everything I think shows on my face. He doesn’t believe I could act the part.
I’ve always genuinely believed that if I’d had tennis lessons as a child I would have been amazing and gone on to win Wimbledon. Having never had a lesson this has not been disproved!
Oh you could ABSOLUTELY tame a fox. I guess so long as you didn’t sing and cripple it with anxiety. Or maybe that would help? Either way, I think you could do it. I’m feeling pretty firm in my belief, actually. I have anecdotal evidence that it isn’t particularly hard, and you’re somewhat determined in the area of ridiculous animals.
I think I have delusions of a similar scale and variety. One such is that I have been convinced, since I was around six years old, that I could be an author. I suppose of course I could, but the delusion is that I’d be good, successful, a creator of works many would wish to become lost in. Every stupid social media contest I enter with a 25 words or less answer requirement further cements this, as I regularly win small scale prizes by using my word limit to craft appallingly trite poems. Thus my mediocrity is rewarded and the delusion is fuelled. I once started writing a novel, if one can consider 1,000 words “starting”, though I promptly stopped after one hour, never to recommence. I suspect because something inside me knows that doing so would ultimately see my delusions highlighted and my silly confidence utterly demolished.
Oh also once as a young teenager my friends were all talking about the parts of them they liked the most. I panicked and said my hands, which I thought were all right, pianists hands, if you will (I do not play the paint, but I’m convinced I could). They all laughed so hard that I’ve never fully recovered and have disliked my giant hands just as much as the rest of me ever since. Which has got to be a good quarter of a century. Although sometimes I pop a ring on and think, yes my friends, you’ll do.
Share your delusions only with those who will encourage them, and you’re golden. I look forward to reading of the exceedingly positive outcome of your first gliding lesson soon.
My most niche self-belief is that I’d be amazing on those mechanical bulls you see in American films. Just given a chance everyone would be in awe and the bar owner would have to ask me to get off in order to give someone else a chance. (I have zero balance and have never excelled in any sporting activity in my life).
Love this. Think it’s inspired a piece for me. Thank you!