"You know, I dropped my public speaking class twice before I finally had to bite the bullet and do it." my dad laughed as we sat at the Longhorn Steakhouse bar, on a cool, dark Wednesday evening. 

"Really?" I scowled, "I was under the impression that you never struggled with public speaking, and flew through your courses just fine."

"Psh! You kiddin' me? Everyone- and I mean damn near everyone- is fucking terrified of public speaking." Dad laughed heartily, "I still shit myself between conferences, and I've been working in sales for longer than you've been alive."

"Trust me," Dad continued after taking a swig of his soda, "Nobody noticed you panic in the middle of your speech. Absolutely nobody. I guarantee that you did just fine, despite having a full-fledged inner freak-out, and having to cut your speech short due to time. I know this may sound shocking to you, but you do extremely well under pressure. I mean, you were calmer than I was when we almost slid off the mountain in the jeep that one time."

"Yeah..." I sighed, "I guess you have a point. Still, the whole experience sucked ass. And, we can logic-fy this shit till the cows come home, but emotionally I feel like I flunked that speech. And, when I return to class tomorrow, everyone's gonna know I freaked out and almost met Jesus in front of all of-"

"What's the worst speech you've seen so far in this class?" Dad interrupted me. 

"Uhhhh...." I scowled as I tried to remember any speech I'd heard.

"Exactly! You don't remember. Same goes for literally everyone else in that class. Nobody gives half a shit about anyone else's speech 'cept for their own. It's true in this class, and it's more-or-less true in the 'real world', too. So, take your chill pills in the mornin's, do your best, and everything else will fall into place. Doing your best doesn't mean you're gonna be perfect, cuz guess what? Perfection doesn't exist! Some speeches will go better than others, cuz progress ain't a linear path. Be proud of the fact that you're forcing yourself to do this public speaking course despite all the other shit you're dealing with. That takes a hell of a lot of guts 'n glory that very, very few people actually have."

"Really?" I asked again, not sure if I could believe my dad, because in my mind I was nothing but an embarrassing coward. 

"Oh, absolutely! People are way more chickenshit than you think. Sure, some people-not many, but some- are perfectly happy doing whatever it takes to get attention. But, the vast, vast, vast majority of people are terrified of any sort of public attention. Being an extrovert is not synonymous with being a good, fearless public speaker. Being an introvert doesn't doom you to fail either... Some of the best public speakers were and are borderline hermits..."

We sat in silence for a moment as my feeble mind attempted to process my dad's words, when he continued, 

"I'll be honest, kid. I fully expected you to drop the class the first week, due to the class size and your anxiety, but ya didn't. And, even now, you're still going! That stubbornness of yours is absolutely gonna pay off, not just in this class, but throughout your whole life. Not many people your age or older are motivated like you are. Don't forget that. Hold onto that."

"I'm not saying it's perfectly fine you're stubborn as a mule-health comes first, as ya know- but I promise you, in a few years from now, you're gonna thank yourself for sticking with this class even though it scares the hell outta ya...When I pushed my public speaking courses till the very end of my degree, all that did was agonize me further. So, in the long term, doing the hard shit first will make your life easier and your health better."

"Oh, and I bet when you get your grade for this speech, you will be surprised by how well ya actually did. You're catastrophizing right now, kiddo. But, I promise you that nobody noticed you freaking out. Even if they did, nobody cared. Absolutely nobody. Every time you find yourself worrying about what other people think of you, ask yourself, 'When was the last time so-and-so fucked up around me?', 'When was the last time I heard a friend say 'you too' to the waiter?', 'When was the last time someone I barely know made a silly mistake in front of me?', and you'll realize that you can't recall a single damn thing."

"Even big fuck-ups are seldom remembered by others because, well, mistakes are what make us human. Nobody's perfect, and there's no such thing as a perfect speech either. Even I still make dumb speaking mistakes, and I've been doing this shit for almost twenty-five years now... Be gentle and kind with yourself. Don't be so hard on yourself. Trust me, you did just fine."

"But... what if I didn't?" I whined as I cracked my knuckles, "What if I flunked my speech, tanking my grade with-?"

"Where were you for the last ten minutes?" Dad smirked, "You need to be whacked with a frying pan? Shot with a tranquilizer dart? A pint of whiskey? Some edibl- well- don't do that because weed'll make you even more paranoid than you already are."

"Well... first and foremost," I began, smiling, "I definitely need to increase my dose of Prozac. Maybe that'll do something."

"Yeah? When ya doin' that?"

"Next week. Monday."

Dad scowled for a moment, like he often does when he's thinking hard. Then, he sighed and said, "After this, I'm gonna have you drive the jeep through Deer Creek Canyon to stop your reelin'."

"What? No!" I shook my head, half laughing, half panicking, "I couldn't drive that thing on straight dirt roads in Kiowa! I'm not driving it through the foothills at night!"

"Oh, c'mon!" Dad grinned, "What's the worst that could happen?"

"Oh, I don't know..." I shrugged, "We crash into the ditch. A deer goes through the windshield and we get impaled by its antlers. We hit a tree. I grind the gears so badly that the transmission blows up and we're stranded in the dark with the mountain cougars and bears-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah!" Dad rolled his eyes, "I won't make you drive the jeep...yet."