Finding delight in your embarrassment

How to make incoherence pleasurable.

Yesterday I met a friend downtown to go to dance class. When I first pitched the idea to him, he hesitated. “That would be out of my comfort zone,” he acknowledged. I understood and smiled, letting him know I’d love for him to join.

As he noodled over his decision, I imagined his internal dialogue in action. One part was probably like, “Absolutely not. Too risky.” While another was like, “Oh maaa god that would be so fun. Pleeeeeease. Can we? Can we?” I sat there as some form of this played out in his mind. Then, with nervous excitement, he looked at me. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

When he arrived at the studio, my heart lit up. We shuffled into the class, taking spots near the front. Then we danced! My favourite part was catching my friend’s eye in the mirror after a particularly tough song and us laughing in unison. It was camaraderie through a shared sense of embarrassment at how ridiculous we looked.

Dancing is something I love to do because I get embarrassed. This might sound weird, but hear me out.

I never grew up dancing; I was always one of those kids who felt awkward in their body and was afraid to make bold, expressive movements. I was very contained (safer, right?). When I go into class now as an adult, there is way more freedom, but I still look like a fool. I am not cool like the instructor (and dance instructors are always cool). I am zigging when I should be zagging. My feet and my brain are speaking different languages. My hair is flooping around. But because the voice inside me is kind and loving, this incoherence becomes a pleasurable experience for me. My inner dialogue during class is like, “Look at us! We are so earnestly trying! I love you, even if you look insane. How fun is this? How amazing is the instructor? Look at that lady over there! I like her shoes! Step one two three, step one two three.”

The internal experience I have in dance class is so joyful because any potential shame I could feel around not being good enough is quickly transmuted into embarrassment. I’m able to do this thanks to the inner sense of security I’ve built with time.

What’s incredible about embarrassment is that it always has the potential to end in laughter. If you are laughing at your own imperfection, you are an alchemist.

Here’s how to tell if you’re experiencing shame or embarrassment:

Shame: isolating, creates resistance, reinforces the belief “I am imperfect, therefore I am unlovable”, prevents us from enjoying the present moment

Embarrassment: unifying, creates momentum, reinforces the belief “I’m doing something imperfectly and I’m not the only one”, allows us to enjoy the present moment

The main difference between the two is that one thrives in solitude, while the other is rooted in collectivity. Whenever I feel shame creeping in, I always come back to the notion that “I’m not the only one”—because this affirmation is 100% true, it works.

I am not the only one to wave at someone who wasn’t waving at me. I am not the only one to mess up at work. I am not the only one to have food in my teeth. I am not the only one who has tripped and eaten shit on a curb. I am not the only one who has bumble fumbled my words in front of someone I admire. Insert yours!

Embarrassment is useful because it grounds us in our humanity. So often, we walk around assuming our experience is the only version of that experience; that we’re alone in our foolishness. This couldn’t be further from the truth; there are billions of us out here making mistakes and being imperfect.

When I was waiting for my friend to arrive at the studio, there was one of those School of Life books on the table. It happened to be called On Confidence, which felt like a special wink from the universe as I’d be contemplating this subject. The book references the Dutch scholar and philosopher Erasmus, whose book In Praise of Folly brings up a liberating argument:

“Everyone, however important and learned they might be, is a fool.”

The School of Life people back this up with, “Our own repeated idiocies don’t have to exclude us from the best company. Looking like a prick, making blunders, and doing bizarre things in the night doesn’t render us unfit for society; it just makes us a bit more like the greatest scholar of the northern European renaissance.”

That’s why I don’t think we need to fear embarrassment; I see it as a rich, necessary internal experience that we can choose to lean into—one that gives us a chance to practice showing ourselves compassion and reaching out in connection.

Like the dance class, we can often feel ashamed or embarrassed (choose your character) when we’re trying something new. This is important to note because when we’re stretching ourselves, it’s usually into scenarios that feel unfamiliar. If you have the internal resources to ensure that you move through embarrassment, rather than hang out in shame, stepping out of your comfort zone becomes much more manageable. Embarrassment becomes a useful tool; something you can find safety in when you’re in a vulnerable position.

Next time you do something imperfectly and you feel yourself slipping into shame, try to transmute it into embarrassment. The quickest way to do this is to tell someone about your experience. Call a friend and spill the beans. Let them in on your imperfection. Start your story with “Oh my lord I just made a fool of myself by doing x, y, z.” Best case scenario they’ve done something like that too and you end up laughing together. I do this with my inner caretaker all the time; she helps me navigate the slew of micro-embarrassments that come up during the day, and then any big ones I’ll take to someone I love.

Share yourself and let it be funny. It might take some time to get there, but you can love your way through any scenario. This process is at the heart of the 1:1 work I do with clients. You can read more about it here.

Thanks for being here with me and enjoy your Sunday,

Alex