The Origins of Embarrassment and Why It Matters
When I was 19, I was talking to a beautiful blonde surfer girl, Mandy. We lived in my hometown of Virginia Beach and were planning to meet up at a local house party. I was still your typical insecure teenager who overcompensated and tried to be cool. I was worried about what to wear and had checked my hair three times in the mirror before leaving. An hour later, I was immersed in a loud party. We were standing on the second floor, talking in a hallway full of people. The house was packed. Mandy still hadn’t arrived. I turned to my friend and said, “I’m going downstairs to refill my beer.”
And just as I got to the stairwell, it was like a ghost came and pushed me from behind. I tumbled down the stairs head over feet several times, and not in the charming way you see in movies where you land, dust yourself off and take a bow. I hit my head and elbows on the wall with loud thuds, and eventually splatted face down on the kitchen floor. My hair was mopped over my face. My shirt was ripped and soaked in beer. I sat up to see a room full of people quietly looking at me, and sure enough, there was Mandy, staring down with a concerned, but pitying face.
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