Three Kids in a Trench Coat

This week, I've been working on a poem that I think is about impostor syndrome (not to be confused with Capgras delusion, in which a person believes that a loved one has been replaced with a stranger, though there's a poem in there, too).

In this poem, three kids in a trench coat get away with some stuff -- like stealing pies from windowsills and buying cigarettes -- because, well, they're three kids in a trench coat and no one's really paying attention.

Unlike those with impostor syndrome, the three kids in a trench coat are totally happy with themselves as they teeter about, chasing their fedora in the wind. Many artists, writers, and others, though, feel like three kids in a trench coat who've lost their fake mustache and are going to get caught at any moment and called out for pretending to be what they are not.

I have impostor syndrome more often than I'd like to admit -- that feeling that while maybe I've lucked out or worked hard on occasion, I'm not a real writer, artist, or other in the sense that my betters are.

Good news? I've read that those who really should have impostor syndrome rarely do. Of course, those of us with impostor syndrome probably think we're the exceptions to that rule. And certainly there are those who are both totally authentic and 100% confident.

So: Three cheers (one for each kid) for impostors! Keep working hard, keep lucking out, and keep reminding yourself that you deserve every happiness, every success.

And I like that trench coat on you, mustache or no. Let's go steal a pie.

-- Catherine Coan, 11/30/18