My so-called enemies are few and far between. When it comes down to it, I’m wealthy in the positive regard department. I really love people, people love me. I’m talented, freakishly well-read, super-capable, pretty and even courageous. I’m funny, weirdly intuitive, hyper-perceptive, breezy, resourceful, compassionate, bold as hell, powerful, brilliant and even fierce when an underdog is in need. At least, that’s what they say.
On many levels I know it’s all true, which begs the question:
Why do I find it especially noteworthy when people see my True Self and they acknowledge what they see?
Maybe it’s because I’m still, unwittingly, wearing the great big sandwich board my mother proverbially hung on my shoulders and dumped me out into the world wearing:
I’m An Ungrateful Burden + I Come From Sh*tty Stock
“Go make something of yourself, prove them wrong if you can, and then come back and we’ll see about dumping that billboard you’re wearing,” someone inside my head says.
“Remember Icarus,” my step-father would say, “the higher you fly, the further you have to fall.”
There were times I didn’t realize that no one else could read that foul sandwich board because it was not real, and the story of Icarus with wax wings, really only showed that he had piss poor judgement, very little foresight and no willingness to acknowledge context or acknowledge physics. Or that perhaps Icarus and his dad were the equivalent of those people we see winning the modern day Darwin Award, and the story we know isn’t possibly true as told.
I spent a long time pretending not to know who I really am especially when I began to soar toward the sun . . .
and in pretending not to know all that is True about my inherent design, my gifts, my specialties and my talents is to perpetuate a big, fat ugly lie that not only deprives the world of my mission, but most importantly, the freedom to fly.