Have you ever found yourself making less of what you are, less of what you know, less of what you have? Less and less and less.
Well I can’t answer that for you but I can answer that for myself.
I do the less thing because I don’t want to offend or make someone angry or jealous or feel bad or feel dumb. So I’d rather make myself feel small, dumb, less just to make others feel better and bigger.
And that’s messed up. Big time. And stupid. But that’s the way it’s been for me, all my life.
“You’re so smart.”
“No, not really. You’re smarter.”
“Wish I could be you.”
“No you don’t I’m a mess.”
“How did you get your life?”
“Ohhhh just lucky, dumb luck I guess.”
And on and on and on go the passive-aggressive self put downs of me by me. Made so because I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. And because I want friends and family around me, I don’t stand out. Wasn’t that the message I received while growing up?
You can be our friend, invited to our family get togethers so long as you don’t eclipse us. We will love you. Call you family as long as you don’t do anything that will surpass us, make yourself stand out as different, maybe slightly better.
Want to leave the town you grew up in and chase your dreams? Well you can but you’ll do that alone. Stat small was the safe road to love and acceptance. But then it wasn’t. It never was.
And how has that conflicted road of small and large been for me?
It sucks. It’s stupid. And it’s a huge let-down.
When I rose in life, as promised I was abandoned and shunned as selfish, ambitious and empowered. I was alone most of all.
And when I chose small , invisible, not your competition, I was still alone in myself which is the ugliest kind of lonely anyone can experience.
But today at 50 years of age is different. Today is a chance for me to set my pupils on the light ahead that is me shining bright, twirling light and never ever ever ever cowering to fright. Yeah, I like to rhyme it up in my writing, it’s comforting like a nursery rhyme that holds alot more truth than one would think.
No apologies. No sir and No ma’am.
( Note: Written atop a crumbled up bed of white sheets and a cushy white duvet, somewhere in California on the last day of a holiday. With way too many pillows propping me up and a myriad of Starbuck coffee cups strewn across the speckled grey hotel room carpet.)