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Turning 35, I don't have answers but I have learned one thing: we're all just winging it
Turning 35, I don't have answers but I have learned one thing: we're all just winging it

The Guardian

time18-07-2025

  • Entertainment
  • The Guardian

Turning 35, I don't have answers but I have learned one thing: we're all just winging it

When I was little I imagined, as most children probably do, that the grownups had things all worked out and someday I would find myself on the other side of a clear boundary. Adolescence on one side; maturity, responsibility, self-assuredness, composition on the other. A few weeks ago I turned 35. As the day ticked closer, I found that old childhood suspicion creeping in again; if any birthday should serve as a demarcator of that boundary, it should be this one, shouldn't it? And now, as the days tick further from that imagined inflection point, it has become a reinforcement of probably the single biggest lesson I have taken away from 'adulthood': that most of us are simply winging it most of the time, through a process of becoming that never quite reaches become. There is an odd sort of book-end, however, to my adulthood so far: a French comedy show called Bref, its two seasons spaced more than a decade apart. When I was 22 I left my country, the US, and let a new one, France, become a part of me. Bref had come out in 2011, the year before I showed up in Strasbourg. At the time, the series was notable for the way it was structured: 82 episodes, each between one and two minutes in length, featuring an ultra-fast voiceover (like the part in drug adverts on US television where they zoom through all the possible side effects). I used Bref as a supplement to my French classes – as each short episode could be watched again and again until I had learned to pick out the individual words, until they no longer flowed together in one expressive mass. Throughout those 82 episodes, the rapid-fire narrator, 'Je' (written and played by Kyan Khojandi), was the archetype of a 30-year-old 'kind of loser' living in Paris. The show moved so quickly in part because his life did; from party to party, bad joke to bad joke, obsession to obsession, relationship to relationship. Until, of course, it all blows up on him. Fourteen years later, in 2025, Bref 2 opens with Je now in his early 40s, in the immediate aftermath of the wreckage of yet another short-lived but intense relationship that accelerated too fast and crashed. He has been living the same cycle, over and over, while everyone else has evolved in some way – especially his exes. The narration is slower this time, with six normal-length episodes rather than 82 hyperspeed ones, perhaps because the themes are deeper, life is thicker, and we can't move through it so fast any more, in a way that my fellow millennials can probably relate to. Bouncing from party to party isn't as appealing; sometimes, you just want to stare at the tree right there outside the window, wondering to the people there with you what that tree must think about us after everything it has observed in return. Bref 2 is funny and moving, and a nostalgia trip for the French millennial audience for whom it became a cultural point of reference. Among the deeper themes that have emerged for Je in the past 14 years are the things that hold us back, or ways we hold ourselves back. The ennui that comes with too many first dates and nothing really materialising. The ways we put on masks to please others and how that just fails us in the end. The chances we take – or don't. The times we go right up to the line, then drop the ball, the failure haunting us. What Khojandi doesn't touch on much is regret. I used to fixate on my regrets, constantly second-guessing myself, spinning out alternative universes, wondering if any of them were potentially better. If I might be happier in them. When you become an immigrant, when you leave the place you are from for good, there is a rending that occurs – within you, and of you and the people who have not departed with you. It is linguistic, it is geographic. It exists in time and in cultural references. In what we laugh at, in what tugs at our emotions. But will I ever feel fully French, I still find myself wondering sometimes, even as I know without question that I no longer feel fully American. When I sing along to France Gall at 1am, is my acquired reference just as legitimate as a memory of being in my parents' car, listening to it while driving to a summer holiday? There is loss here, yes, but also more than that: it is a big bang, a birth of a new universe. And along with it, a realisation that some of the things I once regretted were indispensable in putting me exactly where I am right now: with a place that has become a part of me as much as I have become a part of it. What do I want at 35? To put energy back into relationships with the people I call family – both inherited and chosen. To be more at ease with owning the times and instances when I have been wrong or have failed, rather than lingering in mental loops. To still be open to the universe throwing me into the unexpected, like a surprisingly deep conversation with a stranger on a train. To surround myself with friends who want to ask big, difficult questions and who are OK to sit with the discomfort of there often not being a satisfying answer. One of those uncomfortable things with no real answer is that I didn't turn 35 in a vacuum. Years ago, after I stood as a témoin, or witness, at my friend Guillaume's wedding, he sent me a note written on the back of a print. 'I hope that this is just the beginning of a lifelong conversation about all the beautiful and horrible things we learn and witness along the way,' he wrote. I'm living a life that is far more incredible than I would have imagined when I was 22, while watching a world that is so much worse: where one old man oversees a genocide in Gaza; a second old man launches, day after day, missiles, drones and bombs at civilians in Ukraine; a third old man threatens to do the same to Taiwan; a fourth old man ramps up the logging and the drilling and the pollution, and salivates at the idea of modern-day concentration camps. Khojandi's character Je, seems to have been into video games as a kid: at the end of Bref 2, he remarks that he had always thought of life as being like a video game, if he did things right he would level up and get to where he needed to go. As a kid, I was into books and Lego. I think the analogy they provide is a better one. The Lego came with a plan but, once you built what you were supposed to, starting over and letting your imagination run wild was far more fun. As for books, the best stories are often threaded with moments that suddenly make the preceding pages make sense in a different way than the reader first understood. At 35 I don't have answers. I'm both a reader and an author when it comes to my life. But I do have bricks and pages. And 35 years from now, I hope the way I've stacked the bricks, and what I've written on the pages, will make sense in a way I can't yet see. Alexander Hurst is a Guardian Europe columnist

Turning 35, I don't have answers but I have learned one thing: we're all just winging it
Turning 35, I don't have answers but I have learned one thing: we're all just winging it

The Guardian

time18-07-2025

  • Entertainment
  • The Guardian

Turning 35, I don't have answers but I have learned one thing: we're all just winging it

When I was little I imagined, as most children probably do, that the grownups had things all worked out and someday I would find myself on the other side of a clear boundary. Adolescence on one side; maturity, responsibility, self-assuredness, composition on the other. A few weeks ago I turned 35. As the day ticked closer, I found that old childhood suspicion creeping in again; if any birthday should serve as a demarcator of that boundary, it should be this one, shouldn't it? And now, as the days tick further from that imagined inflection point, it has become a reinforcement of probably the single biggest lesson I have taken away from 'adulthood': that most of us are simply winging it most of the time, through a process of becoming that never quite reaches become. There is an odd sort of book-end, however, to my adulthood so far: a French comedy show called Bref, its two seasons spaced more than a decade apart. When I was 22 I left my country, the US, and let a new one, France, become a part of me. Bref had come out in 2011, the year before I showed up in Strasbourg. At the time, the series was notable for the way it was structured: 82 episodes, each between one and two minutes in length, featuring an ultra-fast voiceover (like the part in drug adverts on US television where they zoom through all the possible side effects). I used Bref as a supplement to my French classes – as each short episode could be watched again and again until I had learned to pick out the individual words, until they no longer flowed together in one expressive mass. Throughout those 82 episodes, the rapid-fire narrator, 'Je' (written and played by Kyan Khojandi), was the archetype of a 30-year-old 'kind of loser' living in Paris. The show moved so quickly in part because his life did; from party to party, bad joke to bad joke, obsession to obsession, relationship to relationship. Until, of course, it all blows up on him. Fourteen years later, in 2025, Bref 2 opens with Je now in his early 40s, in the immediate aftermath of the wreckage of yet another short-lived but intense relationship that accelerated too fast and crashed. He has been living the same cycle, over and over, while everyone else has evolved in some way – especially his exes. The narration is slower this time, with six normal-length episodes rather than 82 hyperspeed ones, perhaps because the themes are deeper, life is thicker, and we can't move through it so fast any more, in a way that my fellow millennials can probably relate to. Bouncing from party to party isn't as appealing; sometimes, you just want to stare at the tree right there outside the window, wondering to the people there with you what that tree must think about us after everything it has observed in return. Bref 2 is funny and moving, and a nostalgia trip for the French millennial audience for whom it became a cultural point of reference. Among the deeper themes that have emerged for Je in the past 14 years are the things that hold us back, or ways we hold ourselves back. The ennui that comes with too many first dates and nothing really materialising. The ways we put on masks to please others and how that just fails us in the end. The chances we take – or don't. The times we go right up to the line, then drop the ball, the failure haunting us. What Khojandi doesn't touch on much is regret. I used to fixate on my regrets, constantly second-guessing myself, spinning out alternative universes, wondering if any of them were potentially better. If I might be happier in them. When you become an immigrant, when you leave the place you are from for good, there is a rending that occurs – within you, and of you and the people who have not departed with you. It is linguistic, it is geographic. It exists in time and in cultural references. In what we laugh at, in what tugs at our emotions. But will I ever feel fully French, I still find myself wondering sometimes, even as I know without question that I no longer feel fully American. When I sing along to France Gall at 1am, is my acquired reference just as legitimate as a memory of being in my parents' car, listening to it while driving to a summer holiday? There is loss here, yes, but also more than that: it is a big bang, a birth of a new universe. And along with it, a realisation that some of the things I once regretted were indispensable in putting me exactly where I am right now: with a place that has become a part of me as much as I have become a part of it. What do I want at 35? To put energy back into relationships with the people I call family – both inherited and chosen. To be more at ease with owning the times and instances when I have been wrong or have failed, rather than lingering in mental loops. To still be open to the universe throwing me into the unexpected, like a surprisingly deep conversation with a stranger on a train. To surround myself with friends who want to ask big, difficult questions and who are OK to sit with the discomfort of there often not being a satisfying answer. One of those uncomfortable things with no real answer is that I didn't turn 35 in a vacuum. Years ago, after I stood as a témoin, or witness, at my friend Guillaume's wedding, he sent me a note written on the back of a print. 'I hope that this is just the beginning of a lifelong conversation about all the beautiful and horrible things we learn and witness along the way,' he wrote. I'm living a life that is far more incredible than I would have imagined when I was 22, while watching a world that is so much worse: where one old man oversees a genocide in Gaza; a second old man launches, day after day, missiles, drones and bombs at civilians in Ukraine; a third old man threatens to do the same to Taiwan; a fourth old man ramps up the logging and the drilling and the pollution, and salivates at the idea of modern-day concentration camps. Khojandi's character Je, seems to have been into video games as a kid: at the end of Bref 2, he remarks that he had always thought of life as being like a video game, if he did things right he would level up and get to where he needed to go. As a kid, I was into books and Lego. I think the analogy they provide is a better one. The Lego came with a plan but, once you built what you were supposed to, starting over and letting your imagination run wild was far more fun. As for books, the best stories are often threaded with moments that suddenly make the preceding pages make sense in a different way than the reader first understood. At 35 I don't have answers. I'm both a reader and an author when it comes to my life. But I do have bricks and pages. And 35 years from now, I hope the way I've stacked the bricks, and what I've written on the pages, will make sense in a way I can't yet see. Alexander Hurst is a Guardian Europe columnist

People Who Are Insecure But Pretending To Be Confident Often Say These Things
People Who Are Insecure But Pretending To Be Confident Often Say These Things

Yahoo

time17-07-2025

  • General
  • Yahoo

People Who Are Insecure But Pretending To Be Confident Often Say These Things

Ever notice that some people seem to exude confidence, but there's something about them that seems a bit off? Sometimes, what appears to be self-assuredness is just a facade covering insecurity. Whether it's a colleague, a friend, or even yourself, these phrases often hint at a deeper uncertainty. Here are 13 expressions people use when they're insecure but trying hard to appear confident. Read on to find out what they might really be saying beneath the surface. 1. "I Know What I'm Doing." When someone insists, "I know what I'm doing," it's often a defense mechanism to shield their lack of expertise. It attempts to shut down further questions or challenges, creating a barrier that wards off scrutiny. This declaration can mask their fear of being exposed as inexperienced or unsure. In reality, confident people are open to learning and acknowledge when they need guidance. According to Dr. Amy Cuddy, a social psychologist and author of "Presence," genuine confidence often involves being comfortable with vulnerability and mistakes. It's easy to misinterpret this phrase as assertiveness, especially if it's delivered with a firm tone. However, those who are truly secure in their abilities don't feel compelled to convince others repeatedly. They understand that not knowing everything is part of the journey. So next time you hear this, consider that the speaker might be covering up for a lack of certainty or expertise. A little patience and understanding can go a long way in helping them feel more at ease. 2. "I'm Not Worried What People Think." When people claim they don't care about others' opinions, it often reveals the opposite. It's an attempt to project an image of independence and emotional resilience. In reality, this statement can point to a preoccupation with how they're perceived and a desire for acceptance. Those who are genuinely unbothered by external judgments typically don't feel the need to announce it. They simply continue living their lives according to their own values and priorities. This phrase can be a protective mantra against potential criticism or rejection. By vocalizing indifference, people try to convince themselves (and others) that they're unaffected. However, the insistence on this notion may suggest that they're not as immune as they'd like to be. Understanding this can help you approach these interactions with more empathy. Encouraging open conversations about feelings and perceptions can ease the pressure to maintain a confident front. 3. "No One Can Take A Joke Anymore." The phrase "I'm just joking" is often used to mask insecurities when a comment might have hit too close to home. By framing a statement as a joke, people can test the waters without fully committing to their thoughts. It's a way to shield themselves from potential backlash or ridicule. Dr. Jennifer Aaker, a behavioral psychologist, notes that humor can be an effective tool for defusing tension but can also serve to camouflage true feelings. This dual nature of humor can make it challenging to discern genuine confidence from hidden insecurity. Although it's tempting to brush off such remarks, they can offer insight into what someone might genuinely feel. It's important to consider the context and the person's typical communication style. Are they habitually using humor as a shield? If so, this could be a sign that they're grappling with insecurities. Addressing this pattern can lead to more sincere interactions and help them drop their defenses. 4. "I'm Well-Versed In This." Declaring superiority over others can be a sign of insecurity rather than confidence. People who continuously compare themselves favorably to others might be compensating for their self-doubt. This need to elevate oneself above others often stems from a fear of inadequacy. Instead of focusing on personal growth and achievements, they measure their worth by belittling others. In contrast, genuinely confident people are more concerned with their progress than with others' perceived inferiority. This type of statement usually indicates an underlying need for validation. By presenting themselves as superior, they seek to not only convince others but themselves of their worth. Unfortunately, this attitude often alienates others and prevents genuine connections. Understanding this behavior can help you navigate interactions with more compassion. Encouraging a focus on personal strengths rather than comparisons can foster a more positive and confident outlook. 5. "I'm Fine, Better Than Ever." "I'm fine" is a classic phrase that can mask a range of emotions, typically uttered when someone feels overwhelmed but doesn't want to appear vulnerable. It's a defensive mechanism that aims to close off further inquiry. People often use it when they're not ready to confront their feelings or fear judgment or pity. However, as Brené Brown, a research professor and author, emphasizes, embracing vulnerability is key to building genuine connections and fostering inner strength. Confident people understand that acknowledging their emotions is not a sign of weakness. In contrast, repeating "I'm fine" can create emotional distance and perpetuate feelings of isolation. The next time you hear this, consider what might be left unsaid. Offering a patient ear and a safe space for honest communication can encourage a more open exchange. Encouraging vulnerability can help strengthen relationships and boost genuine self-confidence. 6. "I Don't Need Help, I Got This." Proclaiming independence with "I don't need anyone" often signals a reluctance to admit vulnerability or dependency. It's a defense mechanism to ward off possible disappointment or rejection. Truly confident people recognize the value of help and community. They understand that needing others doesn't diminish their worth; instead, it enriches their experiences. This phrase can indicate a fear of relying on someone else and the potential letdown that may follow. While appearing self-sufficient, this assertion might mask a deep-seated fear of connection. The speaker may have experienced past betrayals or disappointments that make them wary of trusting others. Breaking through this barrier requires patience and empathy. Encouraging small steps toward interdependence can gradually shift this mindset. By demonstrating that seeking assistance is a strength, you can help them embrace a more balanced view of independence. 7. "It's Not My Fault." Blaming external factors with "It's not my fault" can reveal an insecurity about taking responsibility. People use this phrase to protect themselves from potential blame or criticism. Rather than accepting accountability, they deflect it to preserve their self-image. According to Dr. Carol Dweck, a psychologist known for her work on mindset, embracing a growth mindset involves acknowledging mistakes and learning from them, which is a true sign of confidence. Genuinely confident people understand that errors are opportunities for growth. They don't shy away from ownership because they know it doesn't define their entire character. When someone frequently denies fault, it's often because they're afraid of being seen as incompetent. Encouraging a culture of learning and growth can help them shift focus from fault to improvement. It fosters an environment where taking responsibility is celebrated as a step toward personal development. 8. "I'm Too Good For This." When someone insists they're "too good" for a particular task or situation, it often reveals a fear of inadequacy rather than genuine superiority. It's a way to deflect potential failure by suggesting the task is beneath them. This attitude can mask the anxiety of not meeting expectations. In contrast, truly confident people are willing to engage with all levels of work, understanding that every experience contributes to their growth. They don't feel the need to elevate themselves by demeaning others or tasks. This phrase can hint at a reluctance to step out of one's comfort zone. It may be a preemptive strike against criticism or a fear of not excelling. By claiming superiority, they're trying to protect their ego from potential failure. Encouraging a mindset that values all experiences, regardless of perceived prestige, can help reshape this outlook. Emphasizing the learning potential in every task can help foster genuine confidence and a willingness to engage fully. 9. "I Tend To Be Right." Insisting on being always right can be a sign of insecurity masked as confidence. People who frequently make this claim may be afraid of admitting mistakes, perceiving it as a weakness. This need to be infallible can stem from a fear of losing authority or respect. Truly confident people are comfortable acknowledging their errors and learning from them. They view feedback as a tool for growth, not as a threat to their self-worth. This phrase can indicate a fragile ego that relies on being perceived as knowledgeable and correct. The insistence on being right often serves as a shield against vulnerability. Genuine confidence involves embracing doubt and the insights that come from others. Encouraging open dialogues and diverse perspectives can help dismantle this defensive stance. By framing mistakes as learning opportunities, you can promote a healthier and more confident approach to personal and professional interactions. 10. "Some People Are So Jealous." When someone accuses others of jealousy, it can signal their own insecurities. This phrase is often used to deflect criticism or negativity by suggesting that others are envious of their perceived success. It can be a way to avoid addressing genuine feedback or concerns. Truly confident people don't feel the need to project others' feelings onto them. They understand that criticism can be constructive and is not necessarily born out of envy. This defensive tactic often arises from a fear that the criticism might be valid. By attributing others' opinions to jealousy, they attempt to preserve their self-esteem. However, this approach can alienate others and prevent meaningful exchanges. Encouraging an open-minded perspective toward feedback can help them move beyond this defensive posture. Understanding that not all criticism is negative can promote a more balanced and confident approach to personal interactions. 11. "I Rarely Make A Mistake." Claiming to be mistake-free often reveals an underlying fear of failure. People who assert this are typically trying to project an image of perfection and competence. However, this mindset can prevent them from taking risks or trying new things. Confident people understand that mistakes are an inevitable part of growth and learning. They embrace them as opportunities for improvement rather than threats to their self-image. This phrase can stem from a pressure to maintain an unblemished reputation or fear of judgment. By denying their fallibility, they miss out on valuable learning experiences. Genuinely confident people don't see mistakes as diminishing their worth but rather as stepping stones to success. Encouraging a culture that celebrates learning from missteps can help shift this perspective. It supports a more resilient and adaptable mindset, fostering genuine confidence over time. 12. "I'm Not Bothered What Others Say." When someone claims, "I'm not bothered," they might be trying to convey indifference to situations that actually affect them. This phrase can be a defense mechanism against admitting vulnerability or emotional disturbance. By asserting detachment, they attempt to protect themselves from appearing sensitive or affected. Genuine confidence involves acknowledging one's feelings and dealing with them constructively. It doesn't require masking emotions to maintain a facade of strength. This statement often hides an inner turmoil or concern about a given situation. The insistence on being unperturbed can indicate a fear of being perceived as weak or overly emotional. Truly confident people recognize that emotions are natural and don't diminish their strength. Encouraging open emotional expression can help them embrace a healthier outlook. It promotes an environment where acknowledging feelings is seen as a powerful and courageous act. 13. "I'm Too Busy For This." Asserting a lack of time can be a tactic to avoid dealing with challenging or uncomfortable situations. People use this phrase to signal their importance and busyness, which can mask insecurities about their ability to handle certain issues. It's a way to avoid facing tasks that might reveal their vulnerabilities or shortcomings. Confident people prioritize effectively and allocate time for things that matter, including addressing challenges head-on. They don't need to declare how busy they are to prove their worth constantly. This phrase might indicate an underlying desire to maintain control and avoid potential failure. By claiming a lack of time, they sidestep situations that could test their abilities or reveal insecurities. Encouraging a more proactive approach to challenges can help them build genuine confidence. By focusing on effective time management and prioritizing tasks, they can address issues directly and constructively. This shift can foster a deeper sense of self-assurance and competence. Solve the daily Crossword

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