That one’s value is measured in excellences. In aptitude. In the capacity to stand out enough to be counted. To be visible. To be seen as an indispensable. To warrant a care, to merit an inclusive action. To be just inside the border of us versus them.
How holy must one be? How sinful? How vulgar or demure? How ordinary or talented? How singular or prolific must we be? How sincere? How comedic?
Which traits must we spotlight as we wander from one conversation to another? From one first to last impression? Which attributes must we peddle when our peers are forced to sit still for 2 minutes, blatantly choosing to meet our gaze or stare around us just to hold on to a bit of loose change?
What should we hide in our tell-all podcasts? What should we reveal in our autobiographical memoirs? Who is ghost-directing our biopics, fear or courage?
When being unhinged and free-tongued isn’t a hot item in the buyer’s market, not for you. When speaking honestly doesn’t afford you a sold out amphitheater, and a tax break. When laughing, full-bellied, at the wrong time finds you in search of a new career. When your truth does not inspire a loving stranger’s hand in yours. How do we continue? When that excellence we accept as normal is too normal or not quite normal enough. When normal is last week’s trend. But not your normal. Not your extraordinary. When you know, instinctively, that you are not them. When you know, coincidentally, that you cannot sit with us without an invitation. When you don’t even really care to be invited, yet you crave a moment to be you with them. When you have dreamed of being you with everyone and feeling that you matter, that you are visible and valued. Even if your existence is an unrealeased biopic.