There I am.
Not quite thirteen.
Tearing through the field with grass stains on my knees,
eyes skyward, looking over my shoulder, leaping, diving.
Caught.
Six points.
Easy.
I try to wipe the sweat from my brow, and the smile from my face.
Both are persistent.
One of the boys: “It’s just gym class.”
But October air burns my lungs in a way I can’t resist.
There she is.
She’ll traipse but never tear.
Skipping through the grass, curls bouncing in a wild rhyme.
She’s just completed her daisy chain.
Six stems.
Tied together.
Easy.
The ball nears and, “Oh dear!” escapes her lips.
Saunter left, “Sorry!”
Tiptoe right, “Goodness me!”
The school bell summons ‘game over.’
I trot off the field toward gossip and bleachers.
I’m pleased with myself. Perhaps too much.
I’m expecting wide eyes.
Reactions.
Reenacting that last catch in my head.
Then I hear it,
“Aww! She’s sooo cute!”
I'm suddenly aware of my sweat.
The grass stains.
The realization that I am not the subject.
I turn.
There she is.
Prancing.
Laughing contagiously.
Doing what freckles and dimples do.
It’s true.
She’s so cute.
“I should be more like her.”
The thought spilled out,
piercing, betraying
my gift
and the October air
that had just filled me with life!
I watch from the sidelines,
no longer the center of it all.
The girls envelope her
in hugs and chorus lines.
I comb back matted hair.
Notice things like shoes,
mascara.
“I should be more like her.”
_______________________________________________________________________________
I often revisit this memory. Because of what happened next: my thought was intercepted.
Quite thankfully.
Yes, my tween mind was probably half-way down the cosmetics aisle and considering a newfound future in ballet, when a very perceptive teacher interrupted my thoughts and said, “You are you and she is she," casually followed by, "When are basketball tryouts? Think you'll get another championship two years in a row?”
I snapped out of it. Such a simple question renewed confidence in what I could offer the world. My team was counting on me. My team needed me. They didn’t need traipsing or flowers or dimples or freckles or Maybeline. They needed me and my sweat, my focus, my passion!
The realization flooded my face with color again. When I looked back over at her bouncing curls I no longer saw her as something I wasn’t.
She was she and I was me.
Fifteen years later, I’m no longer that little, knobby-kneed girl on the football field. I’m at a workout class next to women skinnier than me. Stronger than me. I remember the flower crown.
Shatter intimidation. May their strength empower me.
I’m at work — a designer. Pinning iterations up for critique. My concept left unpicked. They go with something else — an idea belonging to my younger coworker. She’s so creative. She’s clever. She’s funnier than me. I see freckles dancing in a field.
Dismiss self-doubt. Celebrate her craft. Let her inspire me.
I’m in the kitchen, pots overflow, steam has me rolling up my sleeves. Exasperated, ready to give up and dial a pizza. I volunteered to host the dinner for women much better at this than me. Dimples and Maybeline. “Why can’t I be more like them?”
Let go of perfection. Seek humility. Ask for help.
It’s easy to compare. To let admiration become envy and then doubt. To think that her successes are my failures. She is cute. I am not. As if there’s only enough room for one cute, strong, creative, talented woman in this world! To think we're not all running on the same field, together, making our beauty known in such authentically different ways.
I imagine doubt will still find me. Yes, and probably when my hair is grayer than hers and my wrinkles, more pronounced. In those moments I hope I don't discount my very own, unique and special gifts. I hope I remain true to them. I hope I show up every day, using them, trying my best.
Perhaps even more, I hope I inspire her, whoever she is, to honor her gifts too. To explore green pastures in a way I hadn't seen. In a way only she knows how.
She is she and I am me.
She sings sweet praise for my touchdown.
I whoop in awe of her flower crown.