Candid Club

Ever replayed a conversation in your head and come up with the perfect line… but only hours later in the shower?

The French call it l’esprit de l’escalier, which literally translates to “wit of the staircase” or “spirit of the stairs.”

It’s when the perfect comeback, the clever line, or the wise response shows up after the moment to use it has passed, typically on the staircase when leaving a gathering.

My head is basically a museum of those moments. Every unsent draft, every “I should’ve said this instead,” every half-formed idea I abandoned too soon has its own display case in there. Some days, I feel less like a creator and like the full-time curator of this museum.

Exhibit A: The blog post I drafted three different ways but never published.

Exhibit B: That time I smiled politely at a comment that deserved a mic-drop response — only thought of it three hours later.

Exhibit C: An entire wing of notes on my phone that once felt urgent and brilliant, now gathering dust.

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The irony isn’t lost on me. Here we are building a brand around being candid, and yet I sometimes ask myself if I should sound wiser, sharper, funnier, more strategic. Wondering:

Am I making myself too visible?
Saying too much?
Not enough?
Do I need to package this better?

The more I care, the louder the noise gets. And the more I try to curate the “right” version of myself, the further I drift from what I’m actually here to do.

If I only share when I feel clear, confident, clever, then I’m just performing candid. Not living it.

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Overthinking tricks me into believing it’s helping. Like if I just edit the idea one more time, I’ll finally get it “right.”

In defense of my fellow overthinkers, most of us don’t build these mental museums to protect ourselves from mistakes. We build them because we care. About how we’re seen, about whether we connect, about whether our words carry weight.

And truthfully? I love the mess in my museum. It’s fertile ground for creativity and imagination.

But I don’t need to get stuck wandering those halls. It freezes me in observation mode instead of action mode. It convinces me into believing that thinking harder is the same as moving forward.

The longer you curate these exhibits in your head, the less you actually create. Perfectionism kills momentum. And clarity usually comes after you start, not before.

Here’s what helps when i do:

• Starting with what’s true, not what’s impressive. You don’t need a perfect insight or clever format. Just name what’s real for you right now — that’s more valuable than you think.
• Asking “what would feel doable today?” and letting that be enough
• Creating first, then deciding if I’ll share it later.
• Using my senses to reconnect. Before creating, slow down. Light a candle. Touch something soft. Sip something warm. Give your body a signal that this is not a rush.
• Remembering I’m allowed to rest before I’ve earned it.

Answering these three simple questions also anchors me:

❣️ Is it honest?

❣️ Is it human?

❣️ Does it invite connection, not performance?

And when the staircase thoughts come (the perfect comeback arriving too late, the clever blog title I wish I’d thought of earlier)…

I remind myself: better a messy truth in the moment than brilliance halfway down the stairs.