105 meatballs.

When I was growing up, my mother wanted to be sure to instill modesty in her children. She might think they were the greatest things since crustless bread, but if we thought that about ourselves, we were liable to get, as my father put it, "the big head." The way that my mother taught us to be modest was to tell us that we could not brag in public. Over and over, we were told not to ever talk about how awesome we were, or how smart we were, or how we multi-talented we were.

Her methods were flawed.

Instead of becoming humble, I became quietly but all-encompassingly full of myself, having being told repeatedly that I was just going to have to keep my inherent awesomeness to myself. I won't speak for my siblings, but I feel certain that their spouses are nodding along with me here. Meanwhile, my mother is throwing her hands up in frustration, shouting, "But they ARE awesome!"

Part of the no-bragging rule was that we could break it at home. We weren't allowed to tell the world how truly spectacular we were, but at home, we had a safe haven where everyone would understand that being modest in the face of such awesomeness was a constant struggle. People at home would realize that we were not arrogant, just very realistic of certain natural advantages that we had over pretty much everyone else we ever met.

Now, that all sounds pretty terrible, and it is an exaggeration. Sort of. I do struggle with my ego. When I was a kid, I thought we had to be modest because nobody likes a braggart. I can easily not boast about myself. But my overestimated sense of self-worth means that anyone I meet has to impress me quickly or I write them off. Thank you, next, please. No amount of natural ability, particularly not my limited share, gives anyone the right to be so dismissive and judgmental. Being stuck on myself prevents me from appreciating anyone else.

And that is all my mother's fault.

However, I am an adult and therefore in charge of my own behavior. I don't blame Mama for loving me. In all honesty, I am glad that I was able to go through childhood and puberty with too much confidence, as opposed to the far more common affliction of too little. It seems to have saved me from making a lot of stupid decisions.

All that aside, I'm here today to break the modesty rule. Despite the fact that not all of you are family, I'm going to brag on myself a little bit here.

On the evening of Wednesday, November 25, I made 105 Swedish meatballs and 30 potato rolls, all by myself. Go ahead, be impressed.


Okay, none of you are impressed. You won't even be impressed after you look at the pictures that I took in my heady state of self-appreciation.




Here's the thing. About three years ago, I couldn't cook. At all. And now, I can keep three pans of meatballs going while I roll out dough. I am not a gourmet chef, I am not a creative culinary genius, but I have achieved (drumroll) COMPETENCY! Pretty exciting, guys.

I may be wrong, but it seems like this is a different sort of pride than the kind that lives deep in my psyche and tells me I'm smarter than you are (no, not you, of course not! You're way smart.). I never did anything to deserve my intelligence. However, 105 meatballs? That is something I earned, which was not automatically easy for me in the first place. This is pride in the accomplishment, rather than the self.

Which all begs the question: if I ever do achieve true modesty, am I allowed to be proud of it?