main character energy

Last week, I was walking into work, listening to music — and as I often do when I’m listening to music, I was dancing a bit as I walked. Later that day, I ran into a colleague; and apparently, they had been walking behind me during my jam. They laughed and said, “You should have seen yourself earlier. You looked like you were the main character of a music video.”

“It’s a good thing,” he clarified.

My partner often teases me that I have main character energy. When I’ve asked him, he talks about it in gaming or anime terms: he describes how I pursue things in my life like questlines, how strangers often feel drawn to talk to me, and how I leave little ripples of impact and impression everywhere I go.

Again, a good thing.

According to Miriam Webster, main character energy is defined as “Dramatic self-confidence; obtrusive self-importance…used both to compliment self-confidence as well as criticize its excesses.”

That distinction, right there, encompasses most of the social anxiety I experience these days.

What differentiates self-assured from self-absorbed?

What separates confidence from cockiness?

And what the hell does an “excess” of self-confidence look like?

It’s a difficult question to answer, I think. We get conflicting messages about this kind of thing all the time — from the media, our families, the internalized voices that guide our behavior every day. Every age, every gender, and every member of every socioeconomic status is subject to it. And we can’t even really look for consistent evidence in our everyday life: after all, there are people in this world who will tell you you’re overbearing, regardless of how bearing you are.

So, how do you know? How do you know if you’re someone who lights up a room, or steals the spotlight?

There’s so much here — and even as I write this now, I feel my thoughts getting pulled in a hundred different directions. I could write a dozen of these installments about the neurodivergent tendency to express excitement and connection through interruption and self-orientation. (They mean well, but they can be socially suffocating). And then I could write a dozen more about the tenets of narrative therapy, which deliberately frames clients as the authors of their own lives and stories.

Suffice to say, it’s a massive topic. But for now, my coffee is getting cold.

So, my friends, I suppose I’ll leave you with this: there are few things in life as enlightening as honest insights from the trusted people around you. If you’d like to understand what “energy” you bring to the table, just ask.