There are days when even the most certain mind feels like a trembling leaf.

After several years of living in Sweden, when I returned to India, I found myself unexpectedly nervous behind the wheel. I would remind myself, you were away for just five years, but you’ve driven here for decades. Yet the mind had its excuses — the traffic has changed, the rhythm of the roads is different now. I often smiled, sometimes even laughed at my own uncertainty. Then I realized — confidence isn’t a permanent state; it’s a visiting companion. Some days, it walks beside us with sure steps; on others, it lingers quietly in the background, watching us navigate the fog.

We often think of confidence as something we either possess or lack — as though it were a fixed trait, like height or eye colour. But confidence is far more fluid, shaped by context, memory, and self-dialogue. It thrives in the spaces where experience meets curiosity, and it retreats when we step into unfamiliar terrain. It isn’t the absence of fear; it’s the quiet willingness to move despite it.

The myth of constant confidence is one of the modern burdens we unknowingly carry. We are told to always believe in yourself, to fake it till you make it, to never show doubt. And yet, every meaningful growth — personal or professional — begins with some form of trembling. The painter before a blank canvas, the leader before a difficult conversation, the parent before an uncertain tomorrow — all carry that gentle flutter within. It is not a flaw. It is aliveness.

Over the years, I’ve learned to see confidence not as a fixed supply but as a rhythm — it expands and contracts like breath. The goal is not to stay perpetually confident, but to know how to return to it with grace when it fades. That return often begins with humility — the simple act of acknowledging that we are learning again.

There are small rituals that help me find my way back.
I pause before new beginnings and remind myself of earlier transitions that once felt impossible. I reach out to people who have seen me through my uncertain phases and remind myself that courage is often witnessed before it is felt. I let go of the need to appear steady and focus instead on being sincere.

Confidence, when stripped of its performative layer, is simply self-trust — a quiet faith that even if the road is unfamiliar, the hands on the steering wheel still remember the way.

So, if today you find yourself doubting your readiness, remember this: confidence does not always lead the way. Sometimes, it follows — quietly, faithfully — waiting for your next small, imperfect step.

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Letters for the Inner Journey by Pushkar