Stop Holding Yourself Back

Over the years I discovered many things I cannot do. People have tried to tell me nothing is impossible. I would nod and smile but inwardly curse them. They clearly didn’t know me. Still, I let them believe they had just changed my outlook on life and suggested they try a career as a life coach. At least I could feed other people’s egos.

For a few years I had wandered listlessly through the lands of Neopia. Every so often something would catch my eye. At one point I was gung-ho about avatar collecting, until I realized some required millions or were retired and gave up. I couldn’t measure up to those elite collectors, the ones that scoffed at low avatar numbers like mine. For a moment I considered trying to collect stamps, but I couldn’t possibly fill even a single page. I wanted to earn top scores in a few games, build an elaborate neohome, have a completed gallery, and so on and so forth. But alas, I could not.

In a way, I was comfortable in my “cannot bubble”. It was morbidly satisfying. It provided an excellent excuse for why my account was so dismally unimpressive, and it kept me from the sinking feeling of failure. In short, “can’t” acted as a shield and kept me safe. And I was certainly well practiced in depression. I had mastered the gloomy face. My posture was perfectly slouched and uninviting, and my eyes were tear factories. I was truly the life of the party.

One day I was strolling through the Bazaar with my pets when Honey, my first pet, stopped. “If you just tried, I’ll bet anything you’ll succeed,” she said calmly.

I stared in disbelief at her. Her sister, Coco, shifted uncomfortably and quickly occupied herself with a discarded key ring. After a few moments I decided to break the silence. “You’re a bunch of pixels,” I said in a harsher tone than was necessary, “How are you dispensing advice? What do you know about success and failure?”

“I know a lot seeing as I’m over 1200 days old,” she retorted, “And I know success and failure go hand in hand- so you can’t have one without the other. Right now you’re doing nothing and you’re miserable for it.”

I turned to continue walking. I was not about to be chastised by my pet. “I know you’ve been wanting to paint me with a baby paint brush!” she called.

I groaned.

“And I’ll bet we could go try restocking and start making small profits. Then once we’re practiced we’ll make millions!” I could tell Honey was getting excited.

“We’ll play all sorts of games! You do chemistry, so let’s find math games and thinking games! We can even gamble if you’re feeling lucky...” Her voice trailed off as she concocted ways to make millions.

“I... I can’t!” I threw up my hands.

Honey tilted her head. “Well then, of course not. Just so you know, you’ll still be my owner if you don’t make a profit on a restock. And I’ll still love you even if you don’t show up on a high scores list. Anyway, let’s go home.”

“Yes, let’s,” I grumbled.

I mulled over what Honey had said to me for the next couple of nights. The concept of keeping at something despite losses was completely foreign to me. I also wondered how my pet was so much wiser than me, but this I didn’t spend too much time on. After deliberating for some time, I concluded that Honey was probably right. I braced myself to start failing and succeeding (mostly failing) that next morning.

Honey, Coco, and I tried our hands at as many things as possible. We gained and lost, celebrated and commiserated. We read numerous guides written by others who reached ultimate riches.

To my surprise, I could do almost everything. I realized I had strengths in some areas and enjoyed certain things more than others. For example, I like trying to solve the Lenny Conundrum each week, but the Mystery Picture really isn’t my thing. I never was a “visual type”. Some games I’m good at (Grand Master in fact) and others I quit after ten seconds (we won’t discuss those). I like to restock, even though I miss the extremely rare items. It turns a nice profit and I like the rush.

I’ve been trying out the Faerie Employment Agency after years of pouting because I could never get a job. I actually have a good time with it. However, I refuse to do any quests (well, I’d be kind enough to help the Fountain Faerie). I avoid Jhudora, Illusen, the Flotsam chef, and all others like the plague. They just don’t do it for me, although many other Neopians love making themselves useful.

Before, board topics would die as soon as I posted on them. I still don’t really post. But the ones I recently contributed to didn’t sink right away. There’s actually a lot of Neopets knowledge floating around on those boards.

Bit by bit my bank account grew, and over time earning neopoints became more natural and easier. Finally, the day came that I could afford a baby paint brush. I should have continued saving, abiding by the theory that it takes money to earn money. Instead, because I could, I waltzed over to the Hidden Tower with Honey right by my side. After Honey’s makeover, I stood back to admire the fruits of my labor. Her now big glassy eyes gazed back at me. “Thanks,” I said. “I would never have tried if it wasn’t for you. And you wouldn’t be so cute.”

Honey smiled. “I’ve always been cute,” she said.

Over the past few weeks, I learned that I was poor and unaccomplished not because I was physically incapable, just mentally. I changed my attitude, and thereby changed my whole Neopets experience. And I am by no means a special case. Anything is possible for anyone. The next time somebody tells you something along those lines, know there is a lot of truth to what they’re saying (and yes, I’m well aware it is not possible to jump over a skyscraper). The next time you feel down because somebody else has a Maraquan Draik, or because you’ll never get that Meowclops avatar- check yourself. Notice how many times a day you can’t do something. Your attitude won’t become sunny over night (so no “I can’t change!”s), but with constant self-assurance I guarantee things will start looking up. Now, get to it!