Do you have a favorite photograph?
I do.
I’m holding my son when he is just a couple of days old. He’s wrapped up in that classic white with blue and pink stripe hospital blanked while I also have a blanket we brought from home draped across my shoulders.
It’s a fairly tight close up and I’m looking down at him while he is peacefully sleeping in my arms and it’s a really nice reminder of an absolutely pivotal time in both our lives.
Ok, while that was a lovely trip down memory lane, that’s actually not the type of photograph I’m talking about here.
No, I want to know if you have a favorite famous photograph.
Maybe it’s Ansel Adam’s “Moonrise” or “V-J Day in Time’s Square” where a sailor kisses a nurse to celebrate the end of the war or the desperation of Florence Owens Thompson surrounded by her children during the depression in Dorthea Lange’s “Migrant Mother”.
There are so many great ones to choose from but I think my favorite might be by Yuri Cortez taken in 2012 in Mexico.
Cortez was there to photograph Pope Benedict’s visit and was stationed perfectly above the parade route to get his shot.
Now, I am neither Latino nor Catholic but my understanding is that, if you are, a chance to even glimpse at the Pope in real life is a big thing. And you can sense that from the citizens along the parade route, standing dozens deep, crushing towards the metal barricades while confetti hangs in the air that it truly is a huge deal.
Moments before the motorcade is set to arrive, a lone, stray, scruffy dog finds his way onto the parade route. As he trots directly down the middle of the road he cocks his head towards the crowd and, in that exact moment that Cortez catches on film, the dog seems to truly believe that all those people are there to see him.
As you know, I don’t typically add any images into these emails (something about them being less likely to be delivered to your inbox) but in this case, I will make an exception.
And I love this photograph because the dog is (cute and confidently) wrong. Obviously there is no way to know exactly what that dog is thinking but my hope is it’s something like “Holy shit, all these people are here to see me!”
When, in reality, nobody is there to see him.
Thousands of people are standing along that street, but almost none of them are thinking about the dog. They have their own reason for being there. Something else that they are waiting for. Their own experience occupying their attention.
Which, strangely enough, brings me to the gym.
One of the things I hear from people who are intimidated about going to the gym is some version of:
"I feel like everyone is looking at me." or, ironically, “I’m not in good enough shape yet to start.”
They’re worried someone will notice that they don’t know how to use a piece of equipment. That they’re lifting less weight than everyone else. That they're out of shape. That they don't know what they're doing.
But here's the good news, you're the dog.
You think everyone lined up along the barricades is watching your squat.
They aren't.
The guy next to you is wondering if you noticed that he missed his last rep. The woman across the room is trying to remember whether she's on her third set or fourth. The guy staring in your direction may simply be waiting for the cable machine behind you.
There is even an actual psychological term for this: the spotlight effect. We tend to dramatically overestimate how much other people notice our appearance, mistakes, awkwardness and failures when, in truth, even when they do notice they stop thinking about it long before we do.
We are all the main character in our own lives and supporting characters in almost everyone else's.
That's incredibly liberating in the gym. Nobody cares how much you're lifting. Nobody cares that you had to look at the diagram on the machine. Nobody is keeping track of whether you've gained ten pounds or lost twenty. And the people who do notice you are probably thinking about you far less than you imagine. Or, in my experience, the actual opposite might be true. People might just admire you for showing up.
So do the workout. Try the thing you're bad at. Use the lighter dumbbells. Ask the meathead next to you the embarrassing question (he’ll love that you asked for advice, by the way). Learn the movement. Wear the shorts. Take your shirt off at the beach, for that matter.
You don't have to wait until you feel like you belong there.
Because the parade probably isn't about you.