I make myself both cringe and laugh when I remember this…
I’ll be honest, I was a bit of a dick at times when I first started earning good money in my mid 30’s.
I’d survived on a low income for many years before my property business started bringing the cash in, and I was excited to spend it.
I also lived by the “Work hard, play hard” motto, and that involved getting absolutely shitfaced with my friends at weekends.
Sometimes, I did both at the same time, and one occasion (which makes me both cringe and laugh at the same time) was when I was on a girls’ weekend in London.
Four of us had rented an apartment for a couple of days, and we got so over-excited we polished off at least a bottle of champagne each within an hour of getting there, and then decided it would be a great idea to hit the shops.
I’d never bought designer clothes before that day because I was intimidated by posh shops.
I felt they weren’t really for people like me - like the assistants would be able to smell the fact that I was really just a poor girl who suddenly had a few quid and then ask me to leave.
However, the fizz had successfully dissolved my inhibitions and we headed to Knightsbridge to buy something fancy.
One of my friends spotted Gucci and we all piled in, much to the disgust of the doorman who I could feel eyeing us with suspicion.
We think we all thought we were being as quiet as possible, but I could hear my mates squawking with delight and saying things like, “Woah! This is pretty good value - it’s only £130!” and then another friend leaning over her shoulder and saying, “You dick! It’s £1,300!”.
I seem to remember one of them narrowly avoiding taking out a whole rail of coats when she lost her balance.
All the clothes looked too complicated to try on, so we decided it would be a great idea if we all bought Gucci shoes.
We got the assistants to reluctantly run around after us - they were pretty sure we weren’t going to buy anything but they went through the motions for us.
I remember staggering around in a lovely pair of boots, still not quite believing I’d had the courage to go into the store and try them on.
I felt as high as a kite that I was actually facing a fear: I was trying stuff on in a posh shop, and had found a pair of boots to treasure.
After what probably felt like several hours of toing and froing by the staff, we decided exactly which boots and shoes to buy and made our way to the counter.
I’m not sure if the shop assistant said the same to every one of us, but I’ll never forget her looking very sternly at me and saying, “Just so you know, we won’t refund you if you return these tomorrow.”
My heart sank.
My worst fear had come true, and I’d been rumbled as the poor girl who didn’t belong in the shop.
I wish I’d had a smart-arse reply for her, but I just said, “OK”.
She didn’t know I was probably earning more in a month than she earned in a year, and I had no intention of returning the lovely boots.
In fact, she was right to make sure I wasn’t doing something I’d regret, but I felt momentarily crestfallen.
Thankfully, my sadness didn’t last long because we all piled out of the shop and into a taxi, and we proceeded to take our purchases out of the boxes and put them on.
We wound down the windows of the taxi and the four of us stuck our feet out of the window as we were driving along, yelling, “WE’VE GOT GUCCI SHOESSSSS!”
Classy, huh?
Told you I was a dick!
Anyway, the main coaching lesson for today isn’t to combat fear with alcohol, but to remember your emotions are affected by what you chose to focus on, even if it’s about the past.
I can choose to remember that as the day my fears of going into designer shops were realised, or I can choose to remember the elation of sticking my feet out of a window of a black cab with my mates and celebrating doing mad shit together.
I choose the latter.