Stalled by Shyness

Do you get tongue-tied around strangers? Do you feel self-conscious in public? Maybe you're shy...

I felt especially shy when I was 18. That year, I ordered from a drive-thru window for the first time. I became so self-conscious, I paid for my order and sped away without my food:

That same year, I entered university. Without friends or familiar settings, I became too embarrassed to eat alone on campus. A public bench would've felt like a public stage:

One day, my grumbling stomach led me to a private setting:

I closed the door to my washroom stall and brought out my lunch:

When I bit into my sandwich, I realized how severely my shyness had stalled me, literally:

Since then, I've resisted my shy impulses. Though not every anxious battle is won, I can now eat alone on a public bench (reluctantly). Yes, my girlfriend still orders for me at drive-thru windows. But I have never again dined in a lavatory.

The best shyness-management tip I've followed: Act as if you're outgoing, and most people won't notice that you're shy. After awhile—ideally—neither will you.

Was there a memorable moment when shyness stalled you? Please share! And please dine sanitarily.

Bon appétit!

Business by the Book

Here's my dad when he was in his twenties:

And here's me and my dad in 1977, when I was three years old:

Growing up, my Dad and I had little in common. I loved doing artistic things, like drawing and creative-writing. He loved conducting business, like selling mechanical seals, co-founding a chinese restaurant, and investing in soup vending machines.

But in 1987, my Dad and I shared an unexpected interest. He took me to see Wall Street, and I became entranced by the exciting world of stock trading.

My dad then invited me to choose nine stocks from which he would buy some shares. He taught me how to look up those share prices and track their progress in this notebook:

The mysterious stock abbreviations, the difference between NASDAQ and the NYSE, the dramatic charts and numbers: my dad confirmed the wonder that Wall Street promised, and I could understand why he became a business man.

One morning—dizzy with excitement and seeking confirmation—I exclaimed:

My parents reacted with stunned expressions. My artistic mom probably offered an opposing view, but what I remember most is how my dad didn't say a word.

The next year, my dad and I stopped following the stock market when he fell ill with cancer. He was in the hospital for many months before passing away at the age of 41. I was 13.

As a teenager, I reaffirmed my true love for art. As a grown-up, my joy and job is learning, creating and sharing art. Would I have been wealthier as a stock broker? Yes. Am I happier as an artist? Yes.

In retrospect, what I valued most was the time my dad and I spent together, knowing we had something in common.

For this Father's Day, I made a mini version of our Stock Market Notebook:

And I presented it to him:

Some people are vocal encouragers, like my wonderful mom. Others are vocal discouragers. But there are also people who—like my dad—wordlessly encourage us to find our own paths to happiness.

Thank you, Dad.

And happy Father's Day, everyone. In what ways has your dad encouraged you?

Beware the Box Monster

What is the scariest monster you've seen on Halloween? A zombie? A werewolf? A ghost?

When I was a pre-teen boy trick-or-treating, I saw a creature that chilled my blood.

From a distance, the figure looked like a box: a box with feet and long arms that dragged on the pavement. The box was the same height as I was, so there must have been a child wearing that odd disguise.

As I approached the box costume, I saw that it wore a ghoulish, terrible face. And then it spoke:

The voice was gravelly—like an elderly man—but distorted like a smoker's artificial speaking valve. Was there a grown man inside that child-sized costume? Was it even... human?

The box costume became the Box Monster. I ran away, convinced the Monster's snake-like arms would grab my ankles and pull my fright-filled self into its eternal embrace.

I made it home alive, but I stayed frightened of the Box Monster for many nightmarish nights. If I never went trick-or-treating again, my excuse was that I had outgrown it. But I knew the real reason:


So be careful this Halloween. There are scary monsters out there. And there is one monster who may put you in a box too.

Beware the Box Monster

My Day at the Ranch

When I was ten years old, I wanted to be a cowboy. I even had my own cowboy hat.

So when my teacher announced that our forth grade class was taking a field trip to a ranch, I was in heaven! My maverick destiny had arrived, I reckoned.

At the ranch, we were each assigned a horse. My horse—named Joker—was taller than I had imagined, but it was a hoot 'n' a holler to ride at a relaxed trot.

But as the horses sped to a run, I was suddenly overwhelmed with panic.

So I jumped.

A ranch hand told me how dangerous it was to jump off a moving horse, and to please get back in the saddle. Holding back tears, I did.

But when my horse regained its fast gallop, my reflexes took over: crying, I jumped off again.

And once more.

After that, my classmates watched the ranch hand lead me and Joker back to the barn. There's an Old West saying: "Never walk when you can ride."

I walked.

Humiliated, I rejoined some classmates at the pier, where the next outdoor lesson seemed simple: row a boat.

I stepped on the side of the boat, it pushed away, and I fell in the water.

While I shivered by the campfire, I witnessed my third ranch-related trauma.

My schoolmate, Tim, was screaming while his runaway horse tore down a steep hill. A ranch hand was yelling for him to "Pull the reins! Pull the reins!"

Tim replied:

He survived, but our outdoor spirits had not. We barely cared when the ranch hands gave us unlabeled cans of orange soda.

I took a sip.

That orange soda tasted like bliss. It was so sweet, so reassuring, and so everything right where the field trip had gone wrong.

My day at the ranch was filled with vivid memories. But I'll always remember that orange pop most clearly.


After that field trip, I never wanted to be a cowboy again. As a grown-up now, I prefer the comforts and joys of the great indoors.

But what if I had stayed on that horse, or stepped into that boat, or if my schoolmate pulled the reins?

Things might have turned out very differently:

Howie "Howdy" Woo

UPDATE - Nov 13, 2009: Here is my class journal from when I was ten years old, describing that day at the ranch: