Encouraging Greatness

Last night I worked with a wonderful crew of people. While I'm not close to all my coworkers nor do I concern myself with everyone's doings and dones, those I work with more often the closer I find myself to. I won't bother to name names for the sake of, well, for my sake I suppose. So I'll simply refer to this coworker as L. Hmmm...intriguing isn't it. I like to talk at work. Conversation makes the time pass quickly and usually leaves everyone feeling less worn down by the chores done behind the counter. To get the ball rolling, if it isn't already, I ask a variety of questions. Usually they pertain to what people are reading, what movies they've seen. Surface stuff. Then there are times, like last night, when a question stirs up the atmosphere. Not everyone likes the water muddied and that's understandable. But sometimes it's worth the attempt. The question I asked L was simply "What are you going to school(college) for?" In many ways this translates to "What do you want to be? What do you see as your future?" Sidestepping the statements and conversation that brought this question out, L's answer was straightforward - "fashion." "Cool," I replied. "Why?" "Because I'm not good at anything else. I suck at science, at math, at everything." Let me say I'd make a horrendous mathematician. If my writing ever fails to make the grade, math to the Nth degree. Whatever that means. Let me follow by telling a little of my story... After I graduated from high school with a passable, though barely, GPA, I floundered. My father was all about college. My mother, as mothers are prone to do, encouraging me to follow my dreams. What were my dreams? What was my purpose? What sort of future was I looking for? I hadn't a clue. For the next several years I tried a variety of trades: food service, construction, general labor, retail sales, landscaping, and even college. While the classes were intriguing, the studies bored me. Too tedious. After all, some people need a cool down period lest they press their synapses to the limit following twelve continuous years of education. At least I did. I learned quickly that working for a paycheck was what most people would consign themselves to do for the rest of their lives. Their purpose was to work and work would result in a house, bills, a family, and that was it. While all that is all and good (God bless those who can be so easily satisfied) I was infected with a wanderlust of sorts. I wanted more. I wanted things to be different. I even considered moving to San Diego with nothing more than a few hundred dollars and a Duffie bag. A mentor of mine burned the idea stating it was foolishness. I had more "growing up to do." And here's where L and I find a common connection. L said they never had anyone tell them they were special, smart, worth something. Never had someone tell them to follow their heart, pursue their dreams. Instead, in 7th grade L had a teacher tell them that they could never be what they wanted because they weren't good at this or that. My heart broke. Echoes in my own mind reverberated the hurt and dismay L was feeling. I had been there. I heard similar words spoken to me. And I struggled for years to be free of that defeatist view. I finally moved away, encouraged by a couple of close friends. I made new friends who encouraged me to continue on in my journey to find my purpose, to discover my "destiny" if you will. I wrote my first short fiction piece in 2001, seven years after I graduated high school. While I had written hundreds of poems and gained a meager level of fame on a local level in my home town coffee shoppe, fiction was never something I thought possible. Friends read the piece and responded with encouraging feedback. The story had merit. It had value. If something I wrote has value, didn't that mean I had value? So I began toying with writing over the next couple of years until, encouraged by my wife, I dipped back into education and took classes at a local college. The match was struck, the passion ignited and I realized, regardless of how well I write, I could be, I was good at it. Sure, like a child learning to pencil their first letters, I was a little rough on the edges. But there was something magical about what I was doing. Something that just seemed right. As I talked with L, I remembered something an old teacher, Mrs. Santore, told me. She said "Whatever you do, write. You're good at it." Somewhere I forgot that, lost sight of it. Instead I wandered for years wondering what I should do, who I should be. Sometimes in devastating ways. L is special. L is kind, caring, genuine and wonderful with people. I may not be an important voice in their life, but nonetheless, I think the world should hear what I have to say about L. I always enjoy working with L. They bring a level of brevity and joy to the environment. They are a hard worker, though sometimes easily sidetracked. But not without purpose. L has strong convictions and while L is still trying to discern what all of those are, they hold true to them while trying to understand all the angles. Fashion maybe what L's striving for and in a way it seems fitting. I can't help but think that somehow, some way L will fashion for themselves a new understanding of who they are, what they're meant for and dive wholeheartedly into it. And maybe that will mean diving into a pool with dolphins.