What keeps you up at night?
Statistically, most people would say worrying or stress. I couldn’t tell you the last time that stress kept me awake at night—not even this summer, when clients were late on $20,000 in invoices. Generally, only physical pain prevents me from falling asleep.
But recently, embarrassment kept me awake. It came at an inconvenient time, when I was already sleep-deprived because of my work schedule and family commitments. As I wallowed in the chagrin under the light of a full moon, I was reminded of other nights I had tossed and turned from uncomfortable memories.
I’ve done a lot of regrettable things in my life. A lot. Usually, they are words I’ve said, oversights in my business, or real estate decisions.
The list of things that cause me embarrassment, though, is a lot smaller. Part of that is because I inoculate embarrassment by discussing my foibles. Because of my faith system, it’s normal practice to confess my sins, my weaknesses, and the results of both. Also, as my wife’s friend Kellie would say, “Ryan has no filter.” By that, she means that I don’t have a healthy understanding of the threshold of too much information.
Despite all of that, there I squirmed—pillow over my face, reliving what is probably the most embarrassing moment of my adult life.
It wasn’t that time my sophomore year of college when evidence of me in an 80’s prom dress was circulating a ten-story girls’ dorm (while I was single and looking for love).
It wasn’t that time I made an immature and inappropriate joke to my ex-girlfriend when she went back to the guy she dated before me.
It wasn’t that time I got sick while hiking through a farm in Switzerland and left the contents of my bowels and some used wet wipes behind a log on their hedge row. (I hope the elements got to that before the farmer found it.)
It wasn’t even that time I learned that my male anatomy had been hanging out of my swim trunks at a family reunion—including while I was talking to my very proper and conservative mom.
No, it was bigger than any of those.
At my church, I co-lead the parking team. We’re a group of forty-some folks who operate under the umbrella of Guest Services. In my time on the team, Guest Services has had five different directors—all women who love Jesus, who have servant hearts, and who have significant résumés. I have affectionately called all of them “Boss” during their respective tenures.
When the event in question happened, I had an important meeting with the other team leaders and Dawn, my boss at the time. Dawn had just come from a high-powered, corporate career and was trying to organize all of her sub ministries into a well-oiled machine.
This caucus was coming off a tense series of meetings, where my vision had been positively but uncomfortably challenged by others. I had been trying to regain respect after letting my blind passion get the best of me. So, even though I serve in activewear and attend a laid-back church, I was trying to be professional.
While we were looking at schematics on Dawn’s monitor, I accidentally farted.
No, really: it was an accident. It was out before I even felt any internal pressure. And it smelled BAD—the kind that makes you and everyone else wonder if you recently ate roadkill or suffer from a medical condition.
My buddy Aaron looked at me and rightfully asked, “Seriously!?”
There’s nothing to say in that moment other than, “I’m sorry.” You can’t explain it without exacerbating the problem. You can’t distract from the smell. You can’t be the only one who bails from the room. You can’t pull the “stop, drop, and roll” we used to execute when my roommate Dave bombed our dorm room.
You can only wait out the longest minute of your life. And then never mention it again.
So, why am I mentioning it again? Why even blog about the foremost embarrassment in my memory? To disarm it. To take away some of its power. To help me laugh at it for the first time and chalk it up to fate. To remind myself that I don’t have it all together. And to give you an invitation to share your own freeing stories in the comments section below.
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Stock image purchased from iStockPhoto.com.
