by Anika Mittu ’19

During the freshmen year musical, my skirt fell off in front of an entire audience. Sure, I was wearing a leotard under the skirt, but cast members still tried to move around me and hide me from the glaring stage lights. You can’t exactly laugh onstage when something like that happens; you have to keep dancing. But you can laugh offstage, which is exactly what I did after sprinting back to the girls’ dressing room and falling to the floor in shock.

I’m known for being the clumsy one in my group of friends–if anyone were to have their skirt fall off mid-song, it would have been me. Though this somehow seemed to top every single embarrassing moment I’d had so far, I didn’t care that much. And this not caring about embarrassment is the same feeling that would get me through the next four years.

With every time I’ve dropped a water bottle in a quiet room full of classmates (this happens way more often than you would think) or had my voice crack in auditions, I’ve grown closer to immunity against the shame of embarrassment. Since being clumsy means that I’ve had my fair share of less than flattering moments, it’s probably for the best that I started developing this immunity in November of my freshmen year.

Laughing at my own embarrassing moments has forced me to be kinder to myself, as cliche as that sounds. High school would have been a lot more irritating if I had gotten annoyed with myself every single time I met failure or embarrassment. In moments where it feels like an entire audience
is staring at your downfall, you have to remind yourself that it’s more than okay to smile.

A few weeks ago, I remembered just how immune to embarrassment I’ve become. While dancing through the lower E hall, probably joking about the thrilling feeling of drowning in makeup work, an acquaintance looked at me with disgust, confusion, and a raised eyebrow. It truly did not cross my mind that some people aren’t used to my inability to process embarrassment.

Though the acquaintance probably didn’t want to be associated with me, I feel completely proud of my lack of an ability to sense embarrassment. I’m probably happier when I’m embarrassing myself anyways.