It's okay to celebrate yourself.

Encouragement for introverts and imposters (like me).

“I urge you to please notice when you are happy.”
– Kurt Vonnegut

My young nephew used to carry a plastic container filled with sticks and rocks. Each had a story he was thrilled to tell. It reminded me of my own childhood treasure chest, a cardboard cigar box that held bottle caps, baseball cards, die-cast cars, and other kid ephemera. “Roi-Tan, 10 Cents,” the graphics read.

Over time, I added participant ribbons from grade school track meets and classroom spelling bees. These were not to be displayed, I reasoned, because everyone got them. Still, the ribbons had stories. I’d been a part of something.

Any debate around participation awards ended long ago in a stalemate. Some believe honoring everyone diminishes the “true” winners and discourages effort. This article’s for the rest of us—the quiet and self-questioning—the ones who are unlikely to win (and know it well), but show up anyway.

We need to believe we’re doing a good job, too.

There’s plenty of feedback these days that compels runners to try harder. Winners are winning in full view, at scale, never more than an Instagram scroll away. If we’re going to be happy with life as it is, admiration has to start from within.

We must get better at celebrating ourselves.

The Resistance

In a family of extroverts, I used to feel like the only person who didn’t want to be the center of attention. Then I noticed my daughter at two years old, crying sweetly when we sang Happy Birthday. Now her daughter, my grandkid, is the same.

If any of these ring true, it might not come naturally to celebrate yourself:

• Discomfort with the spotlight. We shrink when everyone’s watching.

• Not wanting to be seen as arrogant. We seldom (if ever) brag about ourselves.

• Pressure to keep performing. We think winning comes with expectations.

• Unease with change. We don’t want to disrupt the comfortable order of things.

• Fear of judgment: We worry recognition will invite criticism.

Reframing as Gratitude

The day I reached two months alcohol-free, after a muddy run on Missoula’s Blue Mountain, I propped my phone in the bed of my truck and made a Facebook post.

After twenty years in a slow-rolling fog and ten years of injury-plagued running, I was seeing in Technicolor. My breath was easy, my mind was clear, and my legs were strong. There was no guilt, no compulsion to do better. I was grateful for the entirety of my life—every step leading to that moment on that tailgate.

It felt right to celebrate in public.

What I had learned in the preceding sixty days was that self-celebration isn’t trite. It is a strategic tool for building resilience, strengthening commitment, and—this one is important—summoning support from other people.

When we pause to be thankful for the full spectrum of our experience, we sustain our energy for the things that move us. When we celebrate out loud, we invite others to do the same. I can’t imagine a more perfect thing than a bunch of imperfect humans lifting themselves and one another up.

Self-Celebration in Practice

Celebrate your way. The method doesn’t matter as much as the intention. It can be a simple acknowledgment—a deep breath at the end of a run. Or, it might be more tangible: a journal entry, blog post, saved race bib, or lunch with a friend. Lisa and I get cake and a big foil balloon on our sober-versary.

What’s important is the pause. Slow down, mark the moment, and recognize yourself for participating fully in the story of your life. Oh, and hang those medals up.

The Finish Line

We learn early in life that celebrations are for big things: weddings, graduations, retirements. But what if we zoomed in—smaller and smaller—to the milestones and moments that carry us along on the daily?

When we practice celebrating ourselves, we might find our radar getting more finely-tuned to all the good things. More stuff starts to look like sticks, rocks, and bottle caps worth saving. The rewards of presence and participation grow.

Our treasure chest fills.

Run lightly,
-mike

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Next Week:

The Javelina Diaries 02: Treadmill Daze

One month of training is in the books. So many things didn’t go to plan, and yet there’s still a great deal to celebrate.

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