 |
| Everybody has baggage. I have a blog so I can unload some of mine. |
When I made the decision to finish high school, I thought I
would feel really awesome about it like I do about my hair and my face and how
I can make the most pretentious espresso on the entire street. (Organic, fair traded, locally roasted - this
is serious snob shit, y'all. We don't even own a drip machine.)
The thing is, going back to high school has made me feel a
little... small. And not small like I've lost a few pounds, which would be
totally rad, but small in the way where I don't feel like I hold the same space
I used to in the world. Like maybe I don't hold much of a space at all.
I'm 37 and I'm a high school dropout. It's not like I've
gone and done big, great, amazing things I can be proud of despite my lack of
education, either. I'm not wildly successful in any major way. There is nothing
super fabulous about my life. There is no way my career track would pay for my
elitist coffee habit without the help of a spouse with solid employment
(raising a mug to you, honey).
Basically, I am not to high school dropouts what Bill Gates
is to college dropouts. Not even close.
If you've been following any of my social media streams, you
know I've struggled with motivation, with finishing assignments in a timely
manner, with understanding what the fuck Shakespeare is talking about in
Macbeth, and have worried myself sick over getting decent grades. I've even thought
about dropping out again to free up more time for money-making contracts (the
winter months are always a lean time around here).
Not too long ago, a friend of mine asked me if I regretted
being so candid and public about going back to school. Did putting it out there
for everyone to see make me feel more ashamed? My reply was something like,
"too lunch owl" which means "too late now" when you're the worst
smartphone typist this side of the equator.
But I thought about it for a long time afterwards. As a
blogger, I struggle with exactly how much I should put online for everyone to
see. There's a line you don't want to cross, although that line is in a different
spot on the floor for every blogger I know. Some are intensely private; some
are far more open than I am. There are many things I don't talk about on here,
which is funny considering it's no secret that I'm a recovering addict high
school dropout anxiety sufferer with a mentally ill child.
Oh, and I'm gluten-free.
So I was having a particularly rotten week and was carrying
all this shame around like a really heavy, really ugly suitcase, when I got a
tweet (I'm not imbedding it for privacy - even though Twitter is not terribly
private):
You should know that you have inspired me to go back to school.
WHUT.
Really?
I thanked her, and then I sat for a moment, stunned. And then I got a little teary,
but I quickly composed myself because I was about to go into the boys' school
for a meeting and had to look like a mom who has her shit together and not a
falling apartmom who's son currently hates school and refuses to speak French
in class.
That lasted about five seconds, because then I got this reply:
I think we should thank those who inspire and challenge us to do better. So they know that what they do is worth it.
The fuck, dude. There went the mascara, all down my face
with five minutes to spare before I had to be in a room full of people.
I managed to pull myself together just before I walked in to
the school, and figured if the teacher asked why my eyes were puffy I'd just
tell her I was at home watching The
Notebook.
She'd probably still assume I had been drinking.
But my suitcase felt a little lighter after that. And less
ugly, like maybe it was chevron now instead of paisley.
And then, this morning, I got an email from someone who told
me I inspired her to tell a loved one that she never finished high school. She
had been carrying the shame of her life circumstances around for years; by the
sounds of things, her suitcase is even heavier than mine. Now she's thinking about going back.
Wow. Good thing I'm
not wearing makeup today.
I write this blog for no other reason than because I love
doing it. And I share what I do on it because it's both my therapy and my small,
sarcastic voice in a big, serious world. It's my space to unpack my suitcase, if
you will; to slowly unencumber myself from the weight that holds me down.
I didn't think my words - my story - would ever have a
profound impact on anyone else. I know other people inspire me daily, but I
never saw myself as someone who inspires others. Maybe that's a confidence
issue, or maybe it's because I know I'm not Gandhi or Oprah or Grumpy Cat.
But
I'd be lying if I said that knowing I made a difference to people didn't
totally rock my world. The decision to go back to school was a big one, and far
more emotionally challenging than I thought it would be. However, these messages from people
make me feel a bit surer of my footing; they've made me hold my head a little
higher.
Also, they're making me think I need a new suitcase: smaller,
ergonomic, hot pink, maybe sparkly. Can you get a suitcase shaped like a
unicorn?
I don't want to carry so much baggage anymore, but whatever I have to carry should look fucking fabulous.
And it will be in large part because of you.