While people share many similarities with one another, such as our incapacitating laziness, fascination with Tim Burton films, co-dependent relationships with Netflix, etc., we have never stood more united than in our fears.

Although each special snowflake of an individual has fears completely unique to them, there are many common phobias that the public can generally agree upon, which, as Jerry Seinfeld so kindly summarized for us, are ordered as follows: “According to most studies, people’s number one fear is public speaking. Number two is death. Death is number two…That means to the average person, if you have to go to a funeral, you’re better off in the casket than doing the eulogy.”

At first glance, this is something to laugh off and think about on a later day when one has too much time on their hands. But for the hopelessly analytical and the insatiably curious, a statement like this holds many darker undertones, all of which could not possibly be covered by an American sitcom.

When one thoroughly scrutinizes Seinfeld’s clever, thought-provoking statement, what’s important to understand is why people have such a hard time presenting themselves to one another. It all stems back to one fear that everyone, myself included, will deal with eventually: The feeling of inadequacy.

Now, it doesn’t have to occur in a situation as life-threatening as public speaking, obviously, but it’s the kind of phobia that clings to us like an annoying child. It’s something that stays with us.

When I was a kid, I remember feeling as if the world was my friend. I didn’t comprehend the concept of “proving” oneself, for I had much more serious matters weighing on my little sausage of a brain, such as which Barbie to pick out next at Toys R Us. It’s not accurate to say that the world was simpler back then; rather, my perception of it was. Shame was an emotion far too complex for me to even understand, let alone experience.

As I grew older, I began to learn and notice more things and, in the summer of seventh grade, came to the conclusion that I was lacking in some fundamental way. I wasn’t as athletic or smart as everyone else, I wasn’t as attractive as everyone else; the list went on and on. This realization was absolutely crushing; as a child, it had always been my hope to be more than ordinary, but my awkward, pre-teen self now saw the person that was me as even less than that.

Then game the glorious moment where my hormone-riddled body calmed down and I began having less dramatic, angst-ridden thoughts about myself. Of course, that “awareness” of my newfound limitations didn’t go away; I’ve just developed a healthy respect for them. That being said, I try not to let it stop me from becoming the person that I want to be; someone who I feel is not lacking in any way and doesn’t need to define any part of themselves as being inadequate.

It does get hard, though, when I see other people give up on their noble dreams of grandeur and success. It certainly doesn’t boost morale for the naïve troops that dare hope to accomplish such impressive feats.

A little while back, I found an online blog called “Humans of New York” (HONY). In this blog, there was one posting in particular that stuck with me; though once horribly depressing, I now use it as an example. The post was a picture of a man leaning against a wall with a rather melancholy look on his face. As Brandon, the creator of the site, kept asking him questions, the man started talking about the deep, less humorous things about himself:

“At this point in my life, I’m trying to figure out the things that I truly care about.”

“What’s something you care about less than you did 10 years ago?”

“Being extraordinary.”

The man’s answer to this question really hit me hard. Was that what it would be like for me? Would I end up like this man, giving up and settling for anything?

That’s the thing with a fear like this; it can cripple you until you no longer even want to try. I need to remember, though, that it’s my life, and I can do whatever I want with it. I don’t want to just deal with my fear of not measuring up; I want to tackle it head-on and make it my own.

It’s going to become my number one motivator.