The Myth of Confidence

Why leadership, the outdoors, and midlife all taught me the same thing

I almost backed out of a podcast interview the other week.

Not because I didn’t know the material. The podcast was about my own book. My own experiences. My own story.

And still, fifteen minutes beforehand, my nervous system apparently decided we were preparing for a hostage negotiation.

It’s funny how often fear survives competence.

By this point in my life, I have:

• led departments

• managed crises

• spoken publicly

• taught college classes for years

• published research

• written a book

• launched a business

• learned how to haul a kayak down the highway without becoming a regional news story

And yet part of my brain still occasionally whispers:
“What if everyone suddenly realizes you have no idea what you’re doing?”

Which, honestly, feels rude after this many degrees and committee meetings.

But I think this is something many women quietly experience, especially in midlife.

We assume confidence is supposed to arrive first.

Then we act.

Then we feel ready.

We assume there will be some moment when uncertainty disappears and capability takes over.

Photo by Abigail Kaucher on Unsplash

---

But leadership has taught me something I keep forgetting.

The first time I chaired a difficult meeting, I was nervous.

The first time I spoke in front of large groups, I was nervous.

The first time I launched a kayak alone, I was nervous.

The first time I called myself a writer publicly, I was nervous.

At no point did a glowing woodland creature emerge from the forest to declare:

“You are now fully prepared and emotionally stabilized.”

Mostly you just show up with slightly elevated cortisol and do the thing anyway.

And somewhere along the way, action slowly becomes identity.

Confidence, I’ve noticed, is usually built in motion.

Not before it.

---

I think a lot of women spend years waiting for certainty before they take up space.

In leadership.

Outdoors.

Creatively.

Personally.

We wait to feel qualified enough.

Experienced enough.

Fit enough.

Knowledgeable enough.

Interesting enough.

Meanwhile, life keeps moving.

One of the strangest gifts of getting older has been realizing that many confident-looking people are simply people who kept moving while uncertain.

That’s it.

Not fearless.

Not perfectly prepared.

Not naturally gifted.

Just willing to begin before confidence arrived.

The outdoors helped teach me this because nature does not care about perfection.

The trail does not ask for your resume.

The river does not require expertise before letting you paddle badly.

The campsite does not demand proof that you belong there.

You learn by participating.

Sometimes awkwardly.

Especially awkwardly, in my case.

And honestly, maybe that’s the real lesson underneath both leadership and adventure:

Clarity and confidence are often built while moving, not while waiting.

Which is inconvenient news for those of us who would prefer to overthink ourselves into certainty from the safety of our homes.

I keep hoping someone will inform me there’s another way.

---

Trail & Error began as a personal challenge: could I still become someone willing to try new things in the second half of life?

The answer turned out to be yes. Just with more ibuprofen and bug spray than expected.

If you’ve ever felt behind, intimidated, burned out, or quietly hungry for more adventure, this book was written for you.

Check out a chapter for free: https://rookieoutdoorwoman.com/free-chapter