I've Been Thinking

I don't think we are responsible for anyone's idea of ourselves other than those closest to us—most importantly, our children. In my opinion, everyone else can hit the bricks, higher-ups included. It stands to good reason you were not placed on this planet to be a ballerina pressing ninety pounds on cardboard tips, reaching for an illusion. Well, unless you want to be a ballerina, but that's beside the point. Who created the measures? From the moment you enter this world, you are evaluated. A good slap on your bum and your lungs are checked; a pinch on your eyelids and a piercing light is beamed into your eyes. A finger is poked down your throat for blockages, and a cold stethoscope is pressed to your chest. You think that's it and they will move on, but no. We were probably blissfully happy on the inside. Nine months later, more milestones arrive to be reached within a particular frame: walking, talking, and weight. Can we acknowledge here this might be where the constant need to compare ourselves began? Hello—bathroom scale. Somewhere in the archives, it is stored that I didn't speak until I was two. Then, I gave a complete sentence: "I want my tea." Was I developmentally behind? It was suggested. It wasn't physical, as they had my tongue checked more than once, but I do have a couple of theories based on desire and need. If there is no desire, I do not see the need. At five, cognitive and social skills are tested. Is it so important to color between the lines? Do you need to make friends with little humans eating sand in the sandbox? Why is it necessary to be shaped into the standard model when so much sunshine is outside? The testing goes on and on through every layer, every relationship, and every dream, until academics create tests to tell you what you're good at and what career paths to choose. Passion is nowhere in the equation. A thousand maybes and could-haves are abandoned before they can breathe, conformity pressing lives into acceptable versions of themselves. Individuality breeds innovation. It always has. The strange ones question things. The curious ones wander off path. The misfits rearrange the furniture of the world while everyone else argues over where the chairs are supposed to go. So, what exactly are we so afraid of? For solutions, we are asked to think outside the box after being molded to fit inside it. I do not advocate for acts counterintuitive to health and wellbeing, but I’m still sorting out where the psychological boxes end and where the wonder and excitement in individuality begin. What if you like dancing even though your rhythm is a bit off? Dance like you invented it. What if you like striped socks with flip-flops? Add a scarf and micro shorts—you'll really get them talking. Why race to be the best by their standards? Be the best by yours. How many people learned to shrink themselves before they even discovered who they were? Art graded by critics who decide what's framed and what sits quietly on the wall in a diner. Yet somehow, over good food and light music, more people glance at the picture of the little boy racing his paper boat down the canal than those in the museum might ever see. Guess what? The diner for the win. Literature designed by mechanics to be pleasing, landing softly on the page, when good ideas are often abandoned for fear of coming up wanting. To whomever reads this—write on. Where is the test that measures how well you carried your own strange light through the world? Now, that's a test worth taking.