To my chagrin I haven’t always been very confident. I can remember always having been quite a shy kid, especially with new experiences and in the company of strangers. That problem has remained with me, at least slightly, throughout my entire lifetime. I have no way of knowing, with any certitude, whether it technically qualifies as impostor syndrome but it has been known to lead to quite unfortunate consequences. Over the course of my lifetime I’ve never been conventionally popular. After a while though, I arrived at the conclusion that I seem to be a sort of underground cult popular, with an offbeat appeal somewhat similar to that of the kind of bands and movies whose fans hang around in weird head shops. Once I figured that out I stopped letting that kind of insecurity bother me. During my late adolescence, right around the time I graduated from high school, I first began to succumb to the simply irresistible appeal of the demon coffee. I even presumed to drink it black with caffeine. I have no idea whether the black coffee started all my troubles or whether it may have provoked my already extant troubles into even further flights of frenzy but I started getting anxiety attacks, migraines and a sick stomach. Eventually I started decreasing my coffee intake and my troubles abated. Since I honestly can’t say I specifically expect the worst possible consequences of each thing I do I can’t explain all my anxiety. Especially during my young adulthood I was prone toward being overwhelmingly frustrated before having to go on any kind of significant trip, especially when I was forced to fly someplace. I’ve never minded, and I’ve always enjoyed, specifically being on a plane but I used to have a lot of trouble with anxiety on the morning of a flight, before I boarded the plane. I still have trouble, to a lesser degree, with anxiety before any long trip. I assume that most of my current and recent anxiety, that is only slight, can be attributed to a kind of nervous energy and restlessness. As an adult I’ve always been compulsively punctual. I seem to have a lot of trouble, when I have either to go someplace or to do something, merely getting ready for it, and then waiting for a significant length of time until it’s time for it to happen. None of my insecurity seems to come from a lack of confidence in my intelligence or competence, or from the expectation that someone will deliberately try to thwart my attempts to get things done. It all simply appears to be the result of some kind of an unresolved tendency to feel inordinately uncomfortable under pressure. Hep Larry always knows that there isn’t any reason for things to go wrong. Real Larry, however, always tends to cringe with frustration even when it’s not entirely necessary. I’ve always seen myself as a combination of Charlie Brown and the kind of character Woody Allen has typically played in his movies. Like Charlie Brown, who is constantly frustrated in his attempt to win the heart of the little red haired girl, I always seem to have lots of trouble dealing with life’s entirely typical problems . Like Woody Allen’s movie persona, I’m a bespectacled intellectually inclined neurotic New Yorker stuck in one frustrating misadventure right after the other.