The Long Road

Like millions, I used to watch Oprah when I came home from school.

I’m not saying she absolutely was but she was the first person I ever heard reference growing into your skin.  She spoke of getting older and feeling more comfortable in your body.

I was young but I could sparsely glean her meaning.  I mean, 17 felt a lot better than 12.  That was plain awkward.

I am not only 30 but am well into my 30s.  For so long I have felt ashamed of this.

I expected more from myself.  I thought I would have accomplished more by now.  I thought my achievements would have been splashed about for my family and friends to witness.  I expected my lifestyle would have borne the badges of acquired skill and outstanding talent.

I always felt incredibly gifted.  Naturally endowed.

I have always been passionately drawn to pop-culture and it has taken me many years to identify MY why. 

Because these were the outliers.  His movie moved me to tears.  Her voice moved me to tears.  And his book moved me to tears.  These were the extraordinary stories and abilities in an ordinary world.

And… I have always felt I too am an outlier.  Extra ordinary.

It has taken me many years to realize my skill is people and my talent is relationships.  These badges rarely payout in monetary rewards or in notorious awards.

These successes take place on a Saturday evening in a car parked in the driveway.  They occur with a well thought out and a well-placed comment in the classroom setting.  My feats of triumph are quietly hidden from the masses and are appreciated by an audience of few.

I’ve wanted so desperately to provide credentials for this trait of mine.  A great love story to a fabulous companion.  A home filled with laughter and love.  A family.

But I can't.  And I’m learning to reconcile my life to that.

Because the older I get, the more comfortable I feel in my skin.

I am loving.  I am cheerful.  I frequently bring joy where I go.  I laugh.  I navigate in tenderness.  I operate with passion.  I’m slow to warm in any new situation.  I’m open to many opinions.  I think.  I assess and I derive.  I stand firm in my convictions.

It’s been penned, “I believe in the sun when it’s not shining.  I believe in love when I’m alone.  And I believe in God when He is silent.”*

It’s been sung, “let me love you, and I will love you, until you learn to love yourself.”**

It’s been taught, “experience is that most brutal of teachers.  But you learn, my God do you learn.”***

These things are all me.  And I am learning to be more comfortable with who I am.  I am learning not everyone will esteem you.  Not everyone will appreciate you or value you.  You will always face opposition.  You will always have someone carelessly cast off that which is sacred to you.

Then again, the more you love your decisions, the less you need others to love them.

That’s the beauty of time.  You fall more in love with yourself and your decisions when they are good.  And there is peace in that.

*A Jewish Refugee   **Ne-Yo   ***C.S. Lewis

My Essence

There is one thing I do well in this world.

LOVE.

This I have always known.

Weathering The Storm

When you are in high school, everything feels big.

Your tests.  Your after school practices.  The nation’s political climate.  Your enemies.  Your love.  Your dreams.

I was a junior in high school with a hip English teacher who we all liked.  He was young-ish with an affinity towards the movies we all were watching and the music we all were listening.  He let us call him by his first name which earned him extra ‘street cred’ in our adolescent minds.

I had two best friends who I spent the bulk of my time with.  We talked about boys, school, and our jobs.  But mostly we talked about boys.  We would divide and share our chemistry and our physics homework in an effort to be done quickly with school work and get to the chatting about boys.

One spring, we had group English projects due.  My partners were my two best friends and we would meet during study halls to work on our project.  However, as is inevitable with 16 year olds, our conversation included more about our crushes than the Canterbury Tales.

It was a sunny Sunday after church and our project was due tomorrow.  My thoughts had been on the project all day and its need for completion.  My family and parents who were very religious held Sundays sacred.  We didn’t eat out, shop, or really play with our friends.  We kept close to home and observed a low-key, conservative Sabbath day.

It wasn’t long before the phone call came and we were to all meet at K’s house to pound out this project.  Only my permission was quickly declined when I presented this before my parents.

In hindsight, perhaps I could have given it a better sell.  But honestly, my shame was strong going into it.  I knew the rules.  I knew I failed to timely manage my business.  Mostly, I knew I was asking for a pardon from a paradigm I knew was deeply ingrained in my parents and our family lifestyle.

That night, my mind raced at the thought of my two friends working on it without me.  I was hyperaware I had placed myself in a position where my hands were wholly tied.  And I felt sick.

The next morning, I greeted them before homeroom with the same enthusiasm I had hundreds of times over but was met with chilly dispositions.

By the time our second period English class came, we were asked to all turn in our projects.  I watched as my friend turned in our project and my mind raced how I could make it better.

Class was nauseatingly terrible.

As the bell rang to let us out, I heard our teacher speak my name and ask me to stay behind.  He explained how my friends informed him of my lack of contribution.  He told me I would receive an ‘F’ and our next group project starting the follow week would be a project I would do alone.

My disgrace knew no bounds.  I was humiliated.  I was embarrassed.  I was angry with my friends.  I knew even then it was a harsh sentence for the crime. 

Now, if I had a dime for every work project or task coworkers failed to pull their weight on, I would be a rich girl.  If we fired each coworker who failed to perform his part, we’d all have an instance when we earned termination at some point.

The social implications in society and government to leave everyone callously to his own demise, whether of his making from mistakes or life circumstances, would be destructive to our greater good.

I didn’t speak to either one the entire week.  Every class we shared and each moment we would have shared was sheer torture.  I didn’t eat.  I didn’t sleep.

I ached.

I remember thinking one day I would look back on all of this and see it wasn’t as big of a deal as it felt.

The fact of the matter is, if we are the character make-up of some sum of striking life events, this is one of mine.

To know me is to know I value my relationships above all.  I hurt most when my relationships hurt.

There are many reasons for ailing relationships.  Some are a derivative of malnourishment.  Others are from a lack of nourishment entirely.  Perhaps the most painful are the expiring relationships from personal growth spurts.

Everything in my life is in a state of drastic transition right now.  When describing all of the change I’m experiencing to my dear friends last night, my one friend pointedly declared, “I think it’s YOU who is changing.”

He quickly detected what I was oblivious to connect.

My momentarily rapid evolution has strained some of my relationships.  Today I felt similar to that 16 year old girl many years ago.

And I ache.