Saturday, February 18, 2012

Video Saturday: I Will Survive

For those of you who don't know, my ego resembles this:

See other way-cool pictures like this at
Where the top boulder represents all the things I do, and the bottom boulder represents other people's harsh judgment of what I do, and the tiny little spot at which the two boulders meet represents the things I actually do well in the flat, cold, unfeeling eyes of the world.

This would also be a not-inaccurate depiction of my ego strength.
In truth, the list of things I don't do well is rather extensive. Driving, painting, raising a child, performing open-heart surgery...sometimes you just have to get by on the talents you have. I'm open to constructive criticism on all these things. Because, hey, I don't want to run down the elderly when I'm behind the wheel if I can possibly avoid it. I'm willing to embrace my shortcomings in these areas and not feel too badly about them.

There are some things I don't do well that I really wish I did. I wish I had a better singing voice. I wish I could play guitar. I wish I understood programming in C++. I feel these shortcomings a bit more keenly than others because I'd like to have more talent in all of these areas. That's not the way the dice rolled when I was being made. Bummer, but OK.

And juggling. I always wanted to be good at juggling.
But don't tell me I can't write. Tell me you hate my writing, tell me there are other writers better than me, tell me I need to work harder at writing if I ever want to be a success at it. Not a problem.

But don't tell me I can't write, motherfucker. Because that tiny little point between the two boulders consists almost entirely of the gift God gave me to expressing myself in writing. And I will protect that delicately balanced spot like a mama tiger protecting her cub. Love me or loathe me, follow me or ignore me; I don't need your affirmation to know that I was blessed with a single talent in this life. It's more than part of me. It's me.

And even if you're someone I know and love and whose support and favor I crave deeply, I won't take shit from you about this. Tell me I can't sing, or drive, or make decent pancakes. Ouch, but OK. We can still hang. But there's a line in the sand, except it's actually written on paper with a pen (or on a computer screen with the underline key, if you will). Cross it, and I'm gone.

And I'm OK with that.

Cake - I Will Survive

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