a charade on the world’s stage

Everyone has a role to play in life. A societal role, a familial role, a friendly role, your career role. I’ve played many a part, but have never been comfortable with finding my personal role. I always think what I want to do is cringy and weird, like I can barely imagine anyone who would even care what I have to say. It feels like to get anywhere in life, you have to approach people with a purpose, when all I like to do is sit here and tell you what I think. That means I’m opening myself up for all sorts of criticism. People can take anything they want away from everything I say. There are no limits. I’ll say something of my choosing and they either agree, disagree, or just straight up call me crazy. And more people seem to be taking the third option with me these days.

I’m not crazy. I’ve never felt crazy in my life. And if you believe that, I’ve got a bridge to sell you. To me, it feels like everything I set out to do is exactly what I’m supposed to be doing. If I’m taking a weekend to sit around and write my thoughts, then that’s what I’m going to do. If I’m working, I’m there to focus on reporting as the entirety of the world unfolds in front of me. I’ve got a front row seat to view it after all. And then, sometimes, if I feel like being a dirty girl, I’ll find someone who’s interested in making that happen. I’m working on sharing a few more things about my inner-most workings, which includes this no-holds-barred version of myself. And I’m noticing the more I share, the more people take the option to criticize these thoughts right away instead of giving the audience a second to process what I just said.

I think after a year of lockdowns, we’ve been alone with ourselves more than we have in recent memory. So we’re using what we learned from last year and putting ourselves ahead of everyone else. And so when we see someone doing or sharing something we wouldn’t do, we have a choice of how we react to that. And it’s surprising that people who seem to have gotten everything they wanted in 2021, would rather take the nasty approach instead of the nicer one. I’m wondering what still makes us so angry at the performance we all apparently signed off on. And while there’s days I’m fighting tooth and nail for the next great part, it feels like lately I’m catching more shit than I ultimately dish out. So I wonder where I could possibly be miscast in this whole stinkin’ operation.  

It’s human nature to want to compare yourself to others. We want to come out on top and looking like the best player out there. I’m just not jumping at the chance to disparage anyone else about it anymore. I’d much rather just tell you what I think and not take it personally if you come back and call me crazy. I’m just the catcher in this scenario it seems. I catch a lot of shit from a lot of different people. It’s like I’m just covered in it all the time. The Shit Whisperer. But that’s the choice I’ve made. It’s the role I was born to play. I’ll catch your shit as long as what I throw back at you is put to a good use. Also quit rubbing it in my face. And don’t leave me covered in it after peeling out and driving out of my life again.

This might be one of my finest performances to date. But I’d like to get to a point where I can lower the curtain and find a new destiny in life. There’s a multitude of greener pastures I can choose from waiting for me on the horizon. I can use all the skills I’ve gained over these past couple of years and take up refuge on an entirely different path. Anything is possible. And yet, even as the spotlights begin to dim, I’m still clinging onto a stage play for two that never even got as far as the casting phase of production.

Some people are very lucky they’ve found their writing partner. I just haven’t known where mine is this whole time. And that’s something that weighs too heavily on my mind these days. I can’t pretend it doesn’t bother me, and I don’t know where else to put it. I don’t know who else to talk to about it. What’s the point when there’s only one person on earth who co-wrote the script? Why did I have to show up to my desk, only to find my co-author killed off his character and left? That hurt me. And I’m so invested in the story, I can’t be satisfied with that ending. So what are my options? Do I cry out in pain every time the pangs of loneliness find me? Do I reread messages left just for me? Should I sit in front of the mirror, staring at myself, wondering what it is that’s so wrong and so unwilling to become unbroken?

No. There’s none of that. At least not anymore. Now, I sit. And wait. And keep doing what I’m doing. It’s all about moving forward, even if my station in life seems more sedentary than standing right now. And if people aren’t interested or want to criticize me for what I choose to share, then that’s fine too. It’s all fine. I can play the part of the ever-patient woman for as long as any of you need. I can wait until the end of time, if that’s the case. I’ll just be here, waiting for you to show up to my audition. I saw your name on the sign up sheet. You said you’d show up. It’ll be a fun play. I promise. Don’t forget, I wrote it myself.

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