Who...

I've been writing/sharing for as long as I can remember; my parents always uplifted me and called me special. As a child, there was a sense of accomplishment in being considered special within the eyes of my parents and others. I cannot begin to tell you how many battles my sister and me had to be the lead roles in school plays, sports, academics, and secretly or not so secretly, my parent's attention. My sister was and to be fair, still is the model child between the two of us. People meet her and see a mild mannered, for the most part quiet woman; I see a kid who was both an ally and a competitor.

I can remember there were a few years when I didn't perform at my best and my sister excelled in far too much. There were several years from grade school through high school, in which I remember sitting quietly in the car, after our academic awards show, listening to my dad question my desire to be more, do more. As you can imagine that continued through college and then into my career path. Look, I get it, the good parents want the best for their kids, the parents who don't care about the future of their kids, just don't care. My father still questions me but he's resigned to making further suggestions

Recently, I've shared that I'm my hardest critic. This life thing is becoming a tad more challenging due to the fact all of the decisions that I'm making are in-house. It's funny and strange how work is like the awards show still, there expectations to absorb someone else's agenda and then capitalize on widgets which further move a profitability needle and earn you kudos if you do enough of it. Yes, the song and dance does continue into adulthood but there's a caveat to this show, it's not one that I play or subscribe to per se. At a very young age, I learned to move to my own drum, I learned that music was everything and it was okay to sing and dance. I blame my parents for this one as we used to sing and dance to our traditional songs and other music which set our hearts and feet on fire. It was within these formidable years, I found that failure wasn't really an option within our household.

So now, I sit here far too many years removed from the record player and songs of old, wondering if I've done enough or if I've failed. Again, the world holds its own perception of me, as I do of myself but where does the truth rest. The days go by and life feels as though it's a spreadsheet of calls, surveys, and other analytics which are made up by others who want to peddle certificates of accomplishments. Thank goodness, my dad isn't on any of these weekly calls.

Looking in the mirror seems a bit difficult at times but then every once in a while, I catch a glimpse of that childlike spark and remember that I'm built so differently than most. The approach I take, now, towards life is purposeful and ninja like. In the cases where so many are racing to be heard, I'm merely walking in order to be understood. The world wants the coolest, trendiest, whatever whatever whatever...

I just want to be the one WHO floats under the radar without much fanfare, singing quietly in the corner of the room. You can join me if you'd like, you'll just need to sing along to the song that's playing.