By Adam Gibson ©
My friend ___* works in corporate law with millions of dollars riding on judgements that she's dealing with and clients that ring her late at night and on weekends. She has a salary with a figure you'd laugh at if I told you and yet she looks at me with scared and bright eyes, leans in and confesses with a nervous smile that "I keep waiting for them to realise that I'm a little girl and I don't really know what I'm doing."
I worked for newspapers for eight years, for magazines of some form for four more, and for other news and internet media for a further eight. I've had front page stories, won the National Youth Media Award, had Australia Council writing grants, interviewed Bono and walked in the footsteps of Ivan Milat, among many other things.
And yet, in meetings when high-fives and applause were exchanged, I'd have one eye out the window, day-dreaming of a chocolate Paddle Pop, whether the surf was going to be alright that evening and how I could write my name (if given the chance) in the dust on top of the screen projector.
Isn't there a point where we become adults? Isn't there a point where we become the whole person we're supposedly meant to be?
My friend ___* has told me that even the most intimidating people were little children once and more often than not that little kid is not as far away from the surface as many would lead you to believe.
It's both comforting and disconcerting to think that millions of people are sitting out there right now, wondering if or when somebody is going to call their bluff and try to steal their lunch money away from them.