My whole life, I was told I was
extraordinary. To my parents, I was the kid who hadn't screwed up. To
my boss, I was part of a two-women dream team. To my colleagues, I
was the efficient one. To my peers, I was intelligent. To my
teachers, I was the straight-A student with multiple extra-curricular activities. I was the
star student with an amazing fight reputation in Tae Kwon Do. My
singing teacher assured me I could go far if I wanted to. My mother
kept telling me that coming from a family with money and a heritage
meant I was more priviledged than anyone else. My father kept telling
me that I knew how to succeed and rise ahead of everyone else. I
strolled through life, convinced I was going to make it. I don't think anyone was more surprised then I was when I turned out to be really quite average.
I guess I've always known I was borderline. I've always known that I was smart enough to write well, but not to be a math gizmo. Pretty enough to impress people, but not to model. Nice enough that people warmed to me after a while, but not charismatic. I suppose I'm lucky that I'm well rounded, but I knew that I wasn't the top in anything. I would never excel. And yet, through my childhood years, I always had a strong support system. My parents, although not exactly there emotionally, were certainly there to give me the tools I couldn't acquire myself yet: finances, life experience, drive. I had teachers who believed in me, coaches who told me I had potential. And whatever I didn't excel at, I would avoid. Dancing? Pass. Drawing? God forbid they asked me to draw anything in school, I would get a friend to do it for me. Of course, intrisect motivation pushes one to do what they are best at, but I suppose that always having everyone around me telling me how good I was, was enough. And then I found myself without all those little bars and strings and ropes and people holding me up. And that's when I found out just how fragile my own two legs were. The first six months in particular were hard. I wasn't sure who I was, I wasn't sure which part of myself I wanted to focus on. I'm afraid I made rather poor decisions and that my priorities weren't straight. Instead of focusing on success, I focused on appearance. With it came vanity and a sense of self-entitlement. And yet, I figure I needed to go through that. It's part of my experience, as a child, as a person. I just wish I'd done it a little sooner, when I had people to help me back up when I crumbled.
Picking myself up was hard. Going from indestructible to brittle was painful, especially when I did end up breaking in multiple small pieces. But I now understand that if I work very very hard, and give my very best, and always reach for the stars, I am sure to stay average. Because average people are what make the majority of the world. And probability says that I'm in that majority.
I guess I've always known I was borderline. I've always known that I was smart enough to write well, but not to be a math gizmo. Pretty enough to impress people, but not to model. Nice enough that people warmed to me after a while, but not charismatic. I suppose I'm lucky that I'm well rounded, but I knew that I wasn't the top in anything. I would never excel. And yet, through my childhood years, I always had a strong support system. My parents, although not exactly there emotionally, were certainly there to give me the tools I couldn't acquire myself yet: finances, life experience, drive. I had teachers who believed in me, coaches who told me I had potential. And whatever I didn't excel at, I would avoid. Dancing? Pass. Drawing? God forbid they asked me to draw anything in school, I would get a friend to do it for me. Of course, intrisect motivation pushes one to do what they are best at, but I suppose that always having everyone around me telling me how good I was, was enough. And then I found myself without all those little bars and strings and ropes and people holding me up. And that's when I found out just how fragile my own two legs were. The first six months in particular were hard. I wasn't sure who I was, I wasn't sure which part of myself I wanted to focus on. I'm afraid I made rather poor decisions and that my priorities weren't straight. Instead of focusing on success, I focused on appearance. With it came vanity and a sense of self-entitlement. And yet, I figure I needed to go through that. It's part of my experience, as a child, as a person. I just wish I'd done it a little sooner, when I had people to help me back up when I crumbled.
Picking myself up was hard. Going from indestructible to brittle was painful, especially when I did end up breaking in multiple small pieces. But I now understand that if I work very very hard, and give my very best, and always reach for the stars, I am sure to stay average. Because average people are what make the majority of the world. And probability says that I'm in that majority.
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