Believe You Deserve It

In 1982, Emerson Junior High School, in its ninth-grade poll, named me “Most Comical” and “Steve Martin.” Since then I’ve successfully navigated all awards and recognition. A month ago a friend, Anne Maffei, texted me, “Please respond to my brother, he wants to give you an award that recognizes your work.”

Huh?

Anne’s brother is Greg Maffei, CEO of Liberty Media, a mass media firm founded by the original gangster of cable, John Malone (#badass).6 Before that, Greg was CFO of Microsoft … which feels even more gangster/uber-cool to me. I think being CFO of the evil empire of the nineties is as close to Darth Vader of the corporate world as one can get. But Greg is too likable to be the Dark Lord, so I envision him as Darth Vader after he defeats the emperor, removes his mask, and returns from the dark side.

So, a quick search of my inbox and there they are: emails from Greg and his colleagues congratulating me as the 2018 recipient of the Media for Liberty Award. I had been gracious enough to ignore them for two months. Liberty, five years ago, crafted an award for an author or journalist who writes about the intersection of politics and the economy. I’m pretty sure Greg is a billionaire, as all the elected officials at the event were really, really nice to him (see above: CFO of Microsoft in the nineties), and I think it’s fitting that a professor was too out-to-lunch to respond. So I got back to Greg (“Yes, this is awesome … thanks”) and agreed to accept the award at a ceremony in DC over dinner and drinks at the Newseum—“DC’s favorite museum” in 2016, according to the Washingtonian.

I am excited about the day, but anxious/uneasy. I’m nervous that I’m flying too close to the sun. That, in sum:

I’m. A. Fraud.

Increased attention/recognition puts a guy on my shoulder whispering in my ear, “Who are you kidding? You’re a fraud.”7 Whenever success came my way, it was because I was “fooling them.” I didn’t warrant recognition as an academic, nor rewards as an entrepreneur. I felt an anxiety, always, that I’d be found out for what I really am: the son of a secretary, who did poorly in school, did not invest in relationships, was selfish, and isn’t that gifted. Someone whose only real talent was self-promotion and taking credit for other people’s work. A fraud.

The anxiety is sort of dissipating as I realize that most successful people reach beyond their grasp. Seventy percent of Americans admit to experiencing impostor syndrome.8 Unless you take time to squash these thoughts, they get louder, psychologists say.9 So I cut myself some slack, as there’s been some hard work, risk, and giving along the way.

Still, there’s always the insecurity whispering in my ear—I know who you really are. I hope this is insecurity, not common sense or clarity.

Anxious Scott Goes to Washington

The dinner and award ceremony were wonderful. Overlooking the Capitol, reflecting on the day, I loved being American. Despite the voice on my shoulder, I summoned the skills to present well during the conversation with Greg … who is great at helping others be better at what they do. I had friends in the audience ranging from my best friend from the fourth grade to new friends from Florida and a dozen in between. Like many important events, there were moments of melancholy. I wish my mom could have seen me. I wish my dad was well enough to have been there. I have a good friend who attended whose husband is very sick, and I could feel some of the weight and sadness she was bearing, and how generous it was of her to be there. I also felt the love of friends and of my wife, who rode on planes and trains for six hours to cement this moment for me. Achievement is just a moment in pencil unless you can share it with people you care about. Then it becomes real, a memory in permanent ink. The voice of insecurity is still on my shoulder. However, it dims as I feel American, relevant, and loved.