Scotch Tape and Dams

Scotch Tape and Dams

In the cavernous space buried deep inside of us--that where the core of our being begins to blossom--is this craved aspiration to yield to greatness. It is there that we yearn to be known, appreciated, loved, and if we're lucky... awed and admired at while our restless heels tread the mire beneath each step we take. The desire to be great is not a choice per say. It is the deisal fuel meant for some larger-than-life purpose we know we were chosen for.
But the crystal clear river unto which our desire flows became polluted with styrofoam cups and greasy fast food leftovers of false affirmations we soaked up along the way...
"You're not good enough."
"Try harder."
"Be intimidated... that person is better than you are."
"You've failed once again, shmuck!"
I think it is around the time of middle school that the clean river really meets the trash. At that point, a kid begins to experience the expecations in relationship to performace.
Ahh, performance...
Spelling bees. Little league. Who can decorate the best easter egg. Beauty pagents. Popularity. Varsity team. Head cheerleader. Valdictorian. Who can do the most pull-ups, or in my case... a pull-up.
Somehow the identity--the fingerprint of your uniqueness--is lost in a sea of competition. No longer are you a fish among coral... you're now a minnow among minnows. Weaving in the same direction. Trying to keep up. Reflecting that silver flash among the waters as you march, rather, swim to the same beat of a drum; the drum of expectations and "not good enoughs."
Why the silly climb towards the top? The moutain's an illusion and the pollution to your spectacular river inside to the outside has you teased. There is no mountain. The climbing is simply an exhausting act of miming: your white gloved hands pretending you are trapped in a box.
Maybe there is a box, though. Maybe your drive to defeat the "not good enoughs" is a glass box where you nudge the walls and nothing happens. The nudge feels good for a moment and leaves you sore the next.
I was sitting in the veteranarians waiting room yesterday, waiting for my friend's dog to get the thermometer pulled out of his trap door so we could high tail it out there (there is nothing more rancid then the smell of an animal hospital. Missy, you entered the correct medical profession). As I sat on their navy blue benches in there watching different dogs and cats come in and out of the door (I was waiting for someone to bring in an emu), I opened one of those celebrity rumor magazines sprawled out next to my thigh. I flipped through the pages and found out important news that I must know...
Owen Wilson decided to dump Kate Hudson.
Tara Reid went under the knife and got monsterous jubilees.
And Brad and Angelina are rampedly trying to adopt all of Nigeria so they can fly them home to invade Hollywood.
Oh, and then there was the best dressed list of 2006, the no-no's of wearing turtlenecks during the winter season (I actually agree with that one but abide by it on the weekends), and why you should purchase some coffee thermos that seems to not only keep your fluids at an even level, but cleans your mud room, as well.
YOU NEED MORE. Don't you get it? You just don't have enough, ladies and gents. Your boobs need to be bigger (according to Jessica Simpson). And your love life needs to be more exciting and pleasurable, according to that gross old lady who is always holding some nasty sex toy when she's on t.v.
Bull shit (sorry for the language). It's an illusion, my dear. The devil is trying to convince you that you suck as you sit in the odor-ridden vet's office.
What if for one small instance, maybe even for a minute, you pondered the thought that you are perfect. To the self-depricators, you are probably now logging off of the internet by now. But I'm serious. Could you take one small moment away from the noise and consider the thought that nothing more needs to be done? The surgeon in your head no longer needs to add more silicon to your greatness. It's pointless. YOU'RE ALREADY GREAT. Don't shrug it off with self-pity. Don't push the truth to the side in an attempt to look humble.
You're tired. I may not even know you, but I know that you are tired. Your arms are shot from the constant pull to the peak to fulfill those expectations that were taped to your forehead as a child. It's scotch tape, for pete's sake! Rip it off and let yourself shine.
Do you not know by now that your river's natural function is to flow forward? Expectations to become greater than your unimaginable greatness already rooted inside has and is building dams from shore to shore. The build up of rushing water is your frustration because you were meant to flow.
The pollution, the trash? It takes a little time to clean all of it out. You must understand that simple concept. But the dams can be broken now. But not alone.
Don't tire yourself out in disassembling the rocks, sticks, tree branches, and consumed trash that haults your outburst of greatness. It's a bigger job than you think. You are not a carpenter and you cannot fix it. You can only participate.
But with who? That's for you to find out if you are willing to face that person who dwells within your roots.
In the meantime, rest for a while. For you will soon walk on water