How We Shine

Listening to a song about the sun burning, as the rain pours to the pavement behind my back, out the window.

Yesterday, while sitting across from my amazing web designer, I began to cry. I really hate to cry, always have hated to cry, as far back as I can remember. Mid-sentence, answering questions about where I want to take this writing thing, questions about who I am, what I’ve done with my life, and what I see ahead, I welled up. I took a moment because I couldn’t speak; instead, I followed the image of myself as a kid, walking across the schoolyard, a group of kids behind me taunting.

My father owned a family drugstore close to my elementary school, and the kids used to make fun of me for having money (we really didn’t but I didn’t know it). Any time I walked out of the store with a toy, or came to school with anything new, they sneered. I didn’t let the embarrassment or shame show, I just became less visible.

In high school I was class president and played varsity sports. Just so that no one would feel bad in comparison, I failed most of my classes. I can’t think of one relationship I’ve ever been in where I didn’t make sure I wasn’t outdoing the people I cared about.

Instead of competing, achieving, excelling, I chose to safely remain just under the radar. Mustn’t shine or be too good at anything. It took me fifteen years to get my BA because I would always stop short of completion. I should have a PhD for all of the courses I have taken. And all the professional trainings that I have logged, but never allowed myself the certifications – it’s a shame.

Growing up in the shadow of a miserable alcoholic, who never allowed herself to receive proper credit for her aliveness, beauty, creativity, and skill, I withered. My happiness, especially my achievements, somehow made her feel worse. What to do. Had to get by, so I did it by becoming just a little crazier than her at any given moment. Can’t put that on a resume.

Anyway, nothing poetic to say today, can’t muster it. Just thinking about finally letting go of the habit and the story, and trusting that going with what I love will not truly hurt anyone else. And if it does, unbeknownst to me, then maybe that’s not the worst thing in the world either.

It’s so ironic. I thought I wrote in isolation because I was afraid of failing. No. That’s safe. Been there, done that. I am afraid to do well. Afraid to be bright.

Lots of prayer flags for this one.