The spotlight effect is the illusion we have when we think people are noticing us, but they’re not. It’s a very common psychological phenomenon. For example, you may stumble over your words in a conversation and instantly think, “Oh no—now everyone must think I’m a total loser,” when, in fact, they probably didn’t notice at all, or if they did notice, they didn’t think much about it one way or the other.
Mostly because they’re way too busy being burdened by their own spotlight effect.
When you’re super self-conscious, the simple act of “putting yourself out there” can be absolutely excruciating. Sometimes, your self-consciousness can be so consuming that it affects your entire perception of reality.
One time, I travelled to Arizona to deliver a corporate keynote. My driver from the airport was pretty quiet, and I was tired from the flight, so we didn’t talk much on our way to the hotel. Now, the hotel I was staying at is known for hiring very young, very enthusiastic people to work the front desk.
This is a smart move on the hotel’s part, because it means they are giving younger people an opportunity to learn the hospitality business, thus cultivating future leaders, but it’s a starter job, so they don’t have to pay these young folks much, and they get the benefit of giving their brand a fun, wholesome vibe. And I must say, feeling truly welcomed by a jovial hotel staff makes business travel (slightly) more tolerable.
As we pulled up at the entrance to the hotel, the driver and I both got out of the car to get my luggage out of the trunk. I saw for the first time that he was well over six feet tall and weighed maybe 400 pounds. One of the exuberant young people from the hotel came out to welcome us and help with the bag, and he shouted out, “Hey! Fat Man!”
Fat Man or Batman?
My head snapped up just in time to see the driver stop dead in his tracks. He pivoted, turned to the kid, and in a low, ominous voice said, “What did you say?”
The kid bounced up towards the car like a 20-something Tigger. “I said, ‘Hey, Batman!’ Because of your T-shirt! That’s an awesome T-shirt!”
Indeed, the driver was wearing a Batman T-shirt.
He looked down at his sizable chest. “Oh. Yeah. Batman.”
Tigger started chatting about some Batman trivia with the driver, and I scuttled into the hotel lobby, leaving the two of them, my heart slightly broken by the face of the driver, who’d thought he was being so casually insulted, and slightly healed by the innocent charm of Tigger.
How often have you heard an insult when there wasn’t one?
How often have you felt slighted when no slight was intended?
How often have you assumed that someone else’s behaviour was directed at you, when it wasn’t?
What pain have those imagined offenses caused you?
Stop firing yourself
I remember screwing up while performing in a huge improv show. We were playing a sold-out 1,400-seat theater, and we had a number of celebrity guests. I was in the scene that was ending the first act, and I fumbled.
Now, fumbling in an improv show is actually sort of a blessing, because since it’s being invented as it’s being performed, you and the audience are all in on it together, so screwing up can become kind of an in-joke, or even a magical portal to a better scene. But not that day. Not for me, anyway.
I made so many missteps while performing that I started to feel as though the air was made out of glue and I was flailing in slow motion. I remember catching the eye of my friend—one of the other performers—and her expression plainly said, “What is the matter with you right now???”
At intermission I went out into the parking lot, sobbing hysterically, because I couldn’t stop the barrage of voices in my head telling me what a giant f*cking idiot I was, what a hopeless failure I was, what a ridiculous fool I was for thinking I could ever make it in Hollywood. I felt sure I should be fired on the spot.
The fact that I was—in that very moment—being paid to improvise with celebrities in front of a huge live audience in Los Angeles did nothing to scrape my self-esteem off the floor. Finally, I heard the stage manager calling for us to gather for the second act, so I splashed my blotchy face with cold water and tried to slow my breathing. One of the celebrities took one look at me, gave me a quick hug, and said, “You know it’s just a show, right? Let’s go play.”
He’d noticed that I was upset. He hadn’t noticed that I performed badly. Or if he had, he was over it. Only I was still rerunning my failure in my head.
How many auditions did I tank during those weeks because I was so afraid of failing that I failed?
I somehow made it through the second act, but I didn’t go to the after-party, where I might have made some powerful new friends or even just, you know, had fun.
The shame of my perceived failure haunted me for weeks. Who knows how many fruitful conversations I could have had during that time if I hadn’t been busy licking my invisible wounds? How many auditions did I tank during those weeks because I was so afraid of failing that I failed?
It’s not important that you show up and be brilliant 100 percent of the time.
It’s not important (or even possible) that you never screw up.
It’s only important that you keep going.
That you keep showing up.
That you forgive yourself—and others—and keep trying to become more resilient.
It’s important that you don’t miss moments of your life because you’re busy living inside another moment—maybe a moment that never even happened.
I consider myself successful now not because I never screw up—believe me, I screw up often—but because it no longer ruins my inner monologue for days at a time. It’s not that my feelings don’t get hurt—I’m just as much of a delicate flower as I was in the fourth grade, when one of my classmates kept track of how many days in a row I cried at school. But these days, my hurt feelings heal a lot more quickly than they used to.
Seek compassion for yourself.
Seek forgiveness for those who you think have wounded you.
Seek resilience so you can keep sharing your wonderful self with the world. Not perfect, not without scars, but still in the game.
Let’s play, Batman.
A 15-minute spotlight effect experiment
Can you think of a time when you misinterpreted some feedback? When you were waving wildly and then thought someone was ignoring you, when in fact they just couldn’t see you? When you were self-critical about something other people didn’t even notice? Can you forgive yourself and others for taking things too personally?
Can you forgive yourself and others for poor communication? If you are so inclined, perhaps write or say a little blessing to your former self, and also to those who wronged you, intentionally or not.
images: Depositphotos