Nervous Breakdown Moment

I’m aware that I can come across as calm and confident—and opinionated, but that’s a post for another time.

This morning, I was genuinely surprised that my smart watch didn’t ask me if I wanted to breathe. It generally does anytime I start holding my breath.

It all seemed too much, getting ready to go to Paris and present this paper.

The paper itself is done and has been for a couple of weeks. What I stalled on is the PowerPoint. After misreading the site instructions—something I do when stressed—I became focused on the difficulty of creating the third slide of the presentation.

No. I hadn’t made a start or anything. I simply knew that the third slide was going to be tricky. (I know, where is the logic?)

The first slide, the heading, is a no-brainer. The second, a rundown of the introduction, likewise, a no-brainer. The third paragraph, where I quote a lot of other academics, not so straightforward.

Thankfully, my research buddy, who has more experience with presenting at conferences than me, sent me her stuff to give me an idea of what is expected. It was enough for me to simultaneously get started and feel completely overwhelmed.

With the currawongs making a racket in the tree outside my window, I reassure myself that if I want to put my head on the desk and have a good cry, I can. I am home alone, after all.

I remember seeing students feel this way and begging them to just do something. ‘Pick the easiest thing and do that’ is what I tell them, hoping to get them going.

Okay, so let’s just put some content down. The title, the introduction, something, anything, on that ominous third slide, then the next, then into the easier stuff. Then into the fun stuff. Then choose a new theme. A better one. Then pick designs and fix typos.

Then, hours later, find that you have done enough to do the first read-through.

The timing is good but more is needed on the slides.

I find more. Then realise I am cold and put the heater on.

A little brown thornbill is gathering cobwebs at the corner of the window. It’s a bit early for spring nest building, but I admire the pre-planning happening. The currawongs must have moved on—I didn’t notice them go.

Finally, a slideshow is born. One last typo and it is ready to upload.

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Years ago I went on a school camp.

Not as a student, as a teacher, but I felt like a student. It was Snow Camp and it had been a long time since I’d last been on skis.

One of my colleagues suggested that in our time off, we ski the more difficult black run. I was only just managing the blue runs but agreed anyway. (Again, where was my logic?)

It. Was. Terrifying.

I kid you not.

No one else had been down the run that day so the snow was deep and unmarked, giving me no clue where to go.

‘Use the hill to slow you down,’ my colleague coached.

I hurtled down the run, pointing at the hill on the side of the trail in the hope that it would either slow me down or offer a soft landing. It did both. Over and over again, until we were back at the hardest part of the blue run.

Weirdly, the blue run no longer looked so hard. And it was easier to ski, too. Even with wobbly legs, I made it down to the lift without incident.

It has become my motto—identifying the black runs in my life, those things that are so hard that the rest of your life suddenly seems pretty easy. So much so that you wonder why you were moaning about it just a day earlier.

I have procrastinated on this presentation for weeks. First, I muddled up what needed to happen, thinking it had to be recorded. Then, I muddled up the expected format—there is no required format.

Then I got stuck worrying about that third slide.

Life is like that. We get things wrong. Get muddled. Then unmuddled. And then we worry about problems we will overcome but just can’t currently figure out.

I just couldn’t see my way clear.

Just like the black run. I couldn’t see how I was going to manage it. I had some help but, really, it was on me. I am the one who has to persevere, who has to take that very first step, push off from the edge, and hope for the best.

It is terrifying to take a risk and do something way out of your comfort zone.

I fly to Paris in two weeks. There are so many details to attend to, and there is my presentation. Right now, I am on the edge of that black run, hoping the slope will slow me down, hoping I will find my way.

And I will.

Just as you will.

It might not be Paris, but it is likely there is something that is scaring the socks off you. It is likely that you, too, want to put your head down on the desk and have a good cry.

Go ahead.

Then look up and pick the easiest thing and do that. Put some words down on the page, reach out, ask for help, whatever it takes to get you started.

The rest will take care of itself.