I remember a time when I had no lack of self-confidence—a time when I didn’t doubt myself at all.

I didn’t even know doubt was a thing.

I was young. Not so young that I don’t remember. But young enough not to have learned to hide by swagger.

“I’m different.” I would think, and I knew it to be true.
“I can do anything,” I would say, and believe it.
“I just need to figure out what I want to do and it’s on!”

There might have been some foolishness in that.
But there was a ton of power in it.

That was ages ago. And between then and now, I did learn to hide my swagger.

I don’t remember exactly how it happened.

But—I do remember a time in grade seven or eight when a classmate said, “wow, you’re really arrogant, eh?” And I remember thinking, “who—me?”

I had literally never thought that I could be arrogant. Sure, I knew what it meant; I’d seen other people who were definitely arrogant; but me? Weird.

From that moment on, “arrogance” was often on my mind. I was already trying hard not to do anything embarrassing. Now I was also trying hard not to be boastful.

- Tough combo for an artist!

As I got older, I stayed “humble” as a defence mechanism. You couldn’t hate me if I never overstepped, right? If I don’t give you fodder, would there be any reason to pick on me?

For a while though, I still maintained a quiet swagger. I still thought in my head, “I can do anything.”

But then I didn’t really do anything—for over fifteen years.

And that flicker of hope—the soft voice that held all our childish swagger—was drowned out by The Voice of Reason.

“Don’t look like a fool.”
“Don’t be so audacious.”
“Play it safe.”
“Stay in your lane.”
“Accept what you have.”
”Just be normal.”

I capitulated. I helped that newer, “wiser” voice bury the child.

Occasionally I’d hear a, “we can do more!” from deep down, but I’d cover it up with whatever I could get my hands on first: an immersive video game, alcohol, weed; all three.

But something is changing now.

I’m starting to figure out what I want to do.

And as I now go to war with The Voice of Reason every day, I’m searching wildly for the self-confidence I need to survive its attacks.

I remember where to look. I know where my swagger is buried.

And I’m ready to pull out a twelve-year-old’s confidence from deep within myself.

That child remembers having a placemat that read: “’John’ Means God’s Gracious Gift,” and thinking to himself, “you’re goddamn right I am.”

He remembers knowing he could score every time someone passed him a soccer ball.

He remembers a surety that money would never be an issue—he’d make bank whatever he chose to do.

He remembers his belief that he was indeed a special little snowflake—that no one in the world had a brain quite like his or could do the things that he could do.

He remembers having no doubt.

That child is the perfect ally for an artist at war with The Voice of Reason. Because on top of all his blind confidence, that child is incredible at thumbing his nose at authority and telling them to “suck it.”

So, to the Voice in my head that is currently warning me not to post this—that thinks someone might take it the wrong way and thinks, “damn, Johnny sounds like a dick now”:

“Suck it.”
Yours truly, Lil’ Johnny