My mother spent the first twenty years of my life trying to
shape me into something people would admire, approve of and accept. I understood her fears that I was not enough
just as I was. I felt it too.
Constantly watching other people; always wondering what they
thought; reading books trying to figure it all out, I started down the road to
who I am.
I love watching movies, but most of them are a lot like the
real world, I have to guess what the people are really thinking. Books are different. They carry me inside the character’s mind
and deepest thoughts. It may be
contrived for entertainment purposes, but even so, it comes out of the author’s
head.
It never occurred to me that other people were looking just
as hard as I was, that there were people wondering what was stuffed inside this big head
that belongs to me! I always assumed
that I was the only one on the outside looking in. Kind of like a giant alien child with a magnifying glass
observing the human race, knowing that if I ever revealed myself they would all
run screaming from the room and I would be alone.
But maybe we are all aliens in this world, odd little
creatures clustering around one flower after another, searching for the heart
that binds us all together, the point where we are enough and more than enough
just as we are.
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