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Over the last few years, I feel like I've grown a lot as a person. I've become a parent to two little boys; I've transformed my body from flab to fit; I've expanded my career and hobbies to encompass more of the things that are meaningful to me.

I used to spend too much time selling myself short, now I have more faith in myself and my abilities. I have more confidence in nearly everything I do. I feel pretty good, these days.

However, even as I golf-clap my little successes, I acknowledge my many, many limitations. For instance, I can't dance. No, really: I can't dance. I always end up doing this weird ... I always look like ... well, OK, you know the various forms of the chicken dance on Arrested Development? I look like that.

Click here to read what else Linda has realized about confidence vs. reality ...



I can't function first thing in the morning. Oh, I've had all the good intentions in the world of setting my alarm and springing out of bed to get my exercise done for the day before the rest of my household is stirring, but I may as well entertain a more rewarding fantasy, like the one where Clive Owen spoon-feeds me tira misu. I don't know why I can't just admit that the only thing I'm capable of when I first get up in the morning is 1. reluctantly changing a diaper (only if absolutely necessary, of course) or 2. staggering blearily into the kitchen and fastening my lips around the coffeemaker's spout.

I can't sing, unless you count a sort of monotone mooing with an occasional voice-crack I do in the shower. I can't make a bed without it looking like there are at least three dead bodies hidden beneath the covers. I can't spell "restaraunt," do basic math, crack an egg with any sort of skill, and I can't even think about public speaking without spraying pee all over the place like a terrified Shetland Sheepdog.

I suppose with my new-found self-confidence I should be addressing my shortcomings and working to overcome them, but I don't know ... Isn't it sometimes better to simply accept those areas in which you will never enjoy a sense of expertise, especially when the alternative means doing them more often? (Which, in the case of my singing and dancing, could be an unspeakable danger to mankind.)

Tell me: What sorts of things are you pretty sure you'll never be any good at?