Snow Big Deal
It's always late at night, when my mind races with ideas. I should be relishing this time to sleep. My whole family is in a quiet dreamland. But, alas, my brain is racing.
Tonight's edition of thoughts-keeping-me-awake: "I am not special."
This is a tough pill to swallow. Especially for my generation - the generation of participation medals and constant praise.
But it is true. I am 99.99999% not special. Unless you are one of these people: my husband, my children, my family and a few friends - I do not matter. When I die, your life will be unchanged. I did not (well, yet ... but likely won't) change the world - so if you aren't one of the people listed in the group above ... I am maybe almost or, actually, nothing to you. The vast majority of the world has no clue at all that I even exist.
So ... I sometimes agonize over what to wear. (Which seems trivialized by the acknowledgment that most of the world doesn't know me or care about me!) A week or so ago I had a cry fest as I tried to get myself dressed to go out with my family. I don't often have reason to be in public, sans a grocery run or a Target outing. This was a real life, be in public, affair. And I cried because I couldn't find anything that made me feel cute. You know why? Because I WANT to be special. I wanted the people I saw to think I was a cute and cool Mom. That I didn't look like a Mom. That I wasn't boring or devoid of my own individuality. Basically, I think I was trying to cover up the truth: that I AM like everybody else. I am not special. I am not the coolest or most stylish or most anything person you will ever meet. I'm just, another person. (Spoiler alert: nobody cared at all or gave any notice to the ensemble and lip color that I had agonized over.)
I have spent a lot of time wanting to matter. And to the people I care the most about, I DO. But otherwise - Taylor, who?
I spend my days cleaning, schooling, and chasing down an opportunity to rest. (Today, wasting it and writing this instead!) Conversationally, I can offer up adventures in motherhood (assuming you're interested), my pseudo informed ideas about politics, and a few colorful tales from years past. But mostly, I am not the most interesting person on earth. (Despite my efforts to put on a good Snapchat show!) I am not super cool, or super anything. I'm just ... super regular. And that's okay.
I don't matter much. And neither do you. Likely. (Oprah, you matter! If you're reading this, maybe I DO matter a little! Isn't it cute that I dream of Oprah reading my blog?! What an adorable, unimportant, little dreamer of a creature am I?!?)
We are all a bunch of snowflakes, sure, but how many snowflakes do you really take the time to examine? We look outside and see the snow, not the complexities of each individual flake.
So it's cool, my partners in snow. It's perfectly acceptable to not be special. To not stand out. To totally blend in and make up the vast majority of people. Most of us don't matter. We must stop acting like our Facebook opinions are important. That our food or lifestyle choices are key. That our kids are the cutest (though, fact, mine are!) ... We must accept that we are not the most or the best or the ... anything. We are just the people. And we certainly must stop crying over lipstick. Because that's just a waste of time. I'm looking at you, TAYLOR.
So yeah. Instead of worrying about being special, I'm gonna focus on being happy. And having fun. And worrying less about what anybody thinks - cause shoot. You don't matter (as previously established!) so why should I care?