I can't say Im bitter as I sit here listening to the expert on stage. No, I’m not bitter, but I am—uncomfortable. My insides all twisted up as I stare at him, watching him strut the stage and tell his story of success. I came here to be inspired. I think of the novel Im writing. The first draft is almost done, an accomplishment I thought impossible a year ago, and now my draft cowers pale, and shabby, and make-believe next to this expert and his millions of copies sold. I know I shouldn’t compare, but I do.
I hear a scuffle in the back of the conference room and I look over my shoulder. Rushing toward her seat is my dear friend, late because she was home tucking in the two youngest of her five children, both practically babies born one after the other. When I first met Mandy, she was planning to go to Esthetician school. She loves make-up and skin care, and she has a weakness for rap music. She suffers fatigue from all the nights of sleep lost to potty training and infants and night terrors. As a child her own mother was in and out of the hospital, diagnosed with severe bipolar disorder, and now instead of esthetician school, Mandy stays home with her five children, trying to be the mother to them that she never had for herself. She calls me over sometimes late at night, and with the help of her make-up kit and curling irons she turns me into Red Carpet, wearing slippers, and that’s as close to an esthtician’s career as she’s going to get for now. Mandy inspires me. Why isn’t Mandy the one on stage?
I look up at the expert and wonder what it has cost him to be up there?
I look at the faces in the audience, mostly unfamiliar to me. They are all here to be inspired. What are their stories, I wonder? If called up to the stage, they probably wouldn’t think they had any right to be up there. After all, what could they say that would compare to millions of copies sold? Still, I cant help wondering - what are their stories?
And for that matter, what is my story? What would I say if I were up on that stage?
I decide, if given the chance I would tell people about running. Just to be clear, I’m not a runner. I have bad knees, my legs are as toned as a soggy corn flake,and if you ever see me dashing around in runner’s briefs, you can be sure that someone spiked my oatmeal that morning. But a few years ago my friend asked if I wanted to run a ½ marathon with her and I said it just wasn’t possible. “Im not a runner,” I said. And I wasn’t. And I’m not. But somehow she convinced me to start running with her. The first time we ran together, I had to stop and walk after the first half mile. But slowly I worked my way up, one mile at a time.
My knees hurt, my legs stayed reminiscent of soggy cornflakes, but I kept running. I remember the day I ran 8 miles for the first time. That was the day I had really accomplished something, and knew I could keep going. When the race came, we ran every step of the 13.2 miles. My son kept asking me, “Did you win?...Well, then did you at least get 2nd?” How sad he was to find out that Mommy had been preceded by hundreds of racers, but I would not have traded it for anything. It was precisely because I came in #241 that the experience was so important for my life.
I don't run anymore. That was a one time thing for me, a chance to prove to myself that I don’t have to be perfect, I don’t have to come in 1st, I don’t even have to look cute in my jogging shorts – I just have to try. Since then, I have been less afraid of everything from yeast bread, to sewing, to writing a book. Only - now that Im sitting here listening to millions of copies sold, I am feeling afraid again.
I look over at Mandy; I look at all the faces pointed toward the stage, eyes set on the expert, eyes fixated and fascinated and pleading to know, “Will my turn ever come? Will anyone ever care about what I can do - what I have to say?”
And now, I think if I were to stand up on that stage, I know just what I would say. I would say that the best way to become an expert at anything is to stop trying to be one. So what if you never become one of the greats? You just do what you can do, and let yourself enjoy it. I would say that I learned how to bake on youtube while my kids stood on a stool next to me, dipping their grubby fingers into my batter for taste tests until I lost track of the recipe and had to start over. I learned interior design by perusing design books at the library while my children neither walked nor whispered nearby. I learned how to write a novel by listening to audiobooks of the greatest writers on earth while I rocked my babies in the night or scrubbed dishes at the end of a long day. And I learned how to whitewash brick by picking up a paintbrush and trying it for myself while nearby my husband watched, gripping the arm of the couch and reminding me that replacing the brick was just not an option should I mess up.
If I were on that stage, I would ask - what about you out there, the busy mom and housewife who dedicates your life to slapping together cold lunches and folding laundry, reading Happy Birthday Moon and writing love notes to your children. What if you never see your name printed on a book jacket? What if no one listens to your song, or puts your painting in an art show? What if you can’t pitch the softball as fast as you used to, or you don’t know how to thread a needle, or your casserole always gets overlooked at the potluck?
I would say It’s ok. Get out from the shadow of millions of copies sold and just do what you love, whenever you can squeeze it in. Savor the joy of ever-trying and ever-learning. And in the end, someone who ate that well balanced, nicely packed sack lunch you made just might be watching as you amaze us all.
The audience whistles and cheers, and I snap out of my thoughts. I clap my hands as I watch the expert take a bow, waving and bidding goodbye to all the people he has inspired today. It’s not fair, really, the way I judge him. Surely he has a story of his own, and maybe someday I will be able to listen to it. But for now, as he walks off the stage, I feel more excited than ever to get back home to my rough draft and brown paper bags.
I wrote this blurb three years ago, intending to read it at an artist's showcase. It's based on my real experience with insecurity and self-doubt, and the moment it all came to a head while listening to New York Times Bestselling author. He was speaking at a conference I attended and I left his speech feeling deflated to say the least. I swore that no matter what ever came of my endeavors, I would never forget the struggle and strife and beauty of the everyday, normal life I was living. I vowed to finish my novel and celebrate any small success it brought, most importantly the success I felt as I worked toward a lifelong goal. Now, a month after self-publishing my novel, I have no agent and I have no following, but I have immense gratitude to my Heavenly Father and my dear family and friends. And I have the satisfaction of having done my best. Life is so very good!
I look up at the expert and wonder what it has cost him to be up there?
I look at the faces in the audience, mostly unfamiliar to me. They are all here to be inspired. What are their stories, I wonder? If called up to the stage, they probably wouldn’t think they had any right to be up there. After all, what could they say that would compare to millions of copies sold? Still, I cant help wondering - what are their stories?
And for that matter, what is my story? What would I say if I were up on that stage?
I decide, if given the chance I would tell people about running. Just to be clear, I’m not a runner. I have bad knees, my legs are as toned as a soggy corn flake,and if you ever see me dashing around in runner’s briefs, you can be sure that someone spiked my oatmeal that morning. But a few years ago my friend asked if I wanted to run a ½ marathon with her and I said it just wasn’t possible. “Im not a runner,” I said. And I wasn’t. And I’m not. But somehow she convinced me to start running with her. The first time we ran together, I had to stop and walk after the first half mile. But slowly I worked my way up, one mile at a time.
My knees hurt, my legs stayed reminiscent of soggy cornflakes, but I kept running. I remember the day I ran 8 miles for the first time. That was the day I had really accomplished something, and knew I could keep going. When the race came, we ran every step of the 13.2 miles. My son kept asking me, “Did you win?...Well, then did you at least get 2nd?” How sad he was to find out that Mommy had been preceded by hundreds of racers, but I would not have traded it for anything. It was precisely because I came in #241 that the experience was so important for my life.
I don't run anymore. That was a one time thing for me, a chance to prove to myself that I don’t have to be perfect, I don’t have to come in 1st, I don’t even have to look cute in my jogging shorts – I just have to try. Since then, I have been less afraid of everything from yeast bread, to sewing, to writing a book. Only - now that Im sitting here listening to millions of copies sold, I am feeling afraid again.
I look over at Mandy; I look at all the faces pointed toward the stage, eyes set on the expert, eyes fixated and fascinated and pleading to know, “Will my turn ever come? Will anyone ever care about what I can do - what I have to say?”
And now, I think if I were to stand up on that stage, I know just what I would say. I would say that the best way to become an expert at anything is to stop trying to be one. So what if you never become one of the greats? You just do what you can do, and let yourself enjoy it. I would say that I learned how to bake on youtube while my kids stood on a stool next to me, dipping their grubby fingers into my batter for taste tests until I lost track of the recipe and had to start over. I learned interior design by perusing design books at the library while my children neither walked nor whispered nearby. I learned how to write a novel by listening to audiobooks of the greatest writers on earth while I rocked my babies in the night or scrubbed dishes at the end of a long day. And I learned how to whitewash brick by picking up a paintbrush and trying it for myself while nearby my husband watched, gripping the arm of the couch and reminding me that replacing the brick was just not an option should I mess up.
If I were on that stage, I would ask - what about you out there, the busy mom and housewife who dedicates your life to slapping together cold lunches and folding laundry, reading Happy Birthday Moon and writing love notes to your children. What if you never see your name printed on a book jacket? What if no one listens to your song, or puts your painting in an art show? What if you can’t pitch the softball as fast as you used to, or you don’t know how to thread a needle, or your casserole always gets overlooked at the potluck?
I would say It’s ok. Get out from the shadow of millions of copies sold and just do what you love, whenever you can squeeze it in. Savor the joy of ever-trying and ever-learning. And in the end, someone who ate that well balanced, nicely packed sack lunch you made just might be watching as you amaze us all.
The audience whistles and cheers, and I snap out of my thoughts. I clap my hands as I watch the expert take a bow, waving and bidding goodbye to all the people he has inspired today. It’s not fair, really, the way I judge him. Surely he has a story of his own, and maybe someday I will be able to listen to it. But for now, as he walks off the stage, I feel more excited than ever to get back home to my rough draft and brown paper bags.
I wrote this blurb three years ago, intending to read it at an artist's showcase. It's based on my real experience with insecurity and self-doubt, and the moment it all came to a head while listening to New York Times Bestselling author. He was speaking at a conference I attended and I left his speech feeling deflated to say the least. I swore that no matter what ever came of my endeavors, I would never forget the struggle and strife and beauty of the everyday, normal life I was living. I vowed to finish my novel and celebrate any small success it brought, most importantly the success I felt as I worked toward a lifelong goal. Now, a month after self-publishing my novel, I have no agent and I have no following, but I have immense gratitude to my Heavenly Father and my dear family and friends. And I have the satisfaction of having done my best. Life is so very good!