I have often worried that I am not smart enough, that my work is not good enough, sometimes to almost paralyzing effect — just last night, I was wailing to a friend over dinner that I’ve been freaking out that my novel isn’t actually any good. She told me, quite sternly, that I didn’t get to have an opinion on it right now, that I was just supposed to wait for my agent to get back to me, and in the meantime, write the next thing.
That helped a bit, but the anxiety is still there, bubbling under the surface, along with the academic anxiety that I feel when I hear a brilliant speaker, or struggle with a tricky bit of theory, or even have a student ask a particularly difficult question. And so I generally have masses of sympathy for anyone suffering from that kind of intellectual anxiety, anyone living with imposter syndrome, or just afraid that they’re not up to the task. Afraid that they’re going up against people who are smarter and more prepared, and they’re going to make a complete fool of themselves if they open their mouths.
If I thought Trump had enough self-awareness to actually understand how thoroughly intellectually outclassed he is in this debate, I might be able to summon at least a smidge of sympathy for him tonight. Maybe.
But as it is, I hope Hillary CRUSHES him.