So I’m a bit late with this blog because last week my therapist gave me a writing assignment that I was totally not ready to do. But in a good way. When she said it, I think she kind of laughed because she saw my face. It must’ve looked something like when your favorite hoodie comes out of the washer a different color than when you put it in. Like a genuinely confused, what in the ever living fuck are you talking about face. So what was this writing assignment that threw me off so badly? It was pretty simple. Write about something you are good at. I think my response was, “What do you mean?” Like she had just given me some cryptic hidden message I had unearth.
She repeated it with a smile, “I want you to write about what you are good at.” Now if she had asked me to write about things that are painful? Cool. Physical or Emotional? And how extreme do you want me to go? Cause I’ve got everything. No seriously, I got you. But happiness or things that make me happy because I know I’m good at them?? Um….yeah…about that.
I’m super hesitant about believing I’m good at anything or that anything good is a permanent feature in my life. Let me give you an example. I was really good at track. Like insanely good. At thirteen I was running college times for my events. They were the 100m, 200m, and the 4×100 and 4×200 relays. By the 8th grade I had broken the high school record for all of these events. By 9th grade I had broken the high school, city, regional, and district record for all my events. Now I know some of you who have read my past blogs will say, “I thought you weren’t allowed to play sports?” I wasn’t. The only way I knew these times was because at one time I was told by a coach that they needed me to run an intermural event. Well that intermural turned into one more time, then one more, then another. Finally, my mother said no. But by that time, I had already broken all these records and scouts from colleges had already taken notice.
My mother was approached by coaches, teachers, and scouts all of whom she turned away stating religious reasons. I never really realized how hurt I was because of this until much later in my life. Until after I graduated from college with my undergrad degree with student loans and had to work a full time job while I was going to school. Not that I’m upset because I had to work. But imagine the difference in my college experience between having to work a full time job while I went to school full time, and not having to work at all and just be an athlete on a full scholarship. I went to a state school and I am definitely not complaining. I got a degree so I’m happy. But just imagine the opportunities that would have come my way if a scout from Stanford or Berkley or some other ivy league school had seen me run? Or even had tried to recruit me? Instead every coach, every teacher, every person that approached my mother was turned away. My mother finally relented my senior year of high school but by that time, the people who had been with coaches, gone to sports camps, and had been in sports the entire time had caught up and my times weren’t great anymore. Additionally, we had moved to a pretty rural island for my senior year, so even if I had broken every record there was, it wasn’t likely anyone would have seen it.
I was also really, good at drawing. Like when I was twelve I drew a mural for my little brother. It was on the piece of plywood that separated his bunk bed. Now I certainly wasn’t Picasso, but I was decent and it made me happy doing it. But when I expressed that I had wanted to go to art school to my parents, I was told that it was a waste of time. In fact, even when I was enrolled in a state university years later, for the first few years my mother would occasionally cry when I called her because in her mind, I was wasting my time “striving after the wind” and that none of these things would mean anything when the end of days came so I needed to make my way back to God.
A lot of the things that made me insanely happy I kept to myself and inherently knew I couldn’t tell anyone who knew me from church, like the first time I realized I was gay. It was, and not to be trite, but it literally was like a lightning bolt. It was like for a second I understood why all my life I had felt like a square peg being forced into a round hole. But I couldn’t share that with my family. And I didn’t have very many friends. But even the friends I did have I was afraid to tell because I didn’t think they’d understand being soooo lost in my life. And that’s not shade being thrown at my friends, that’s me being embarrassed about not knowing that I was gay. Like some parents were having coming out parties for their kids and here my dumb ass was not even knowing that I could be gay.
So when it comes to writing about what I’m good at or things that make me happy? Um….
My dog. My dog makes me happy. She’s a tiny long-haired chihuahua and I love her to pieces.
And what I’m good at? I feel like sometimes I’ve given up trying to be good at anything. Have you ever felt that you were someone who was just mediocre at everything? It feels amazing when you kick ass at something. And for years that was me. And it came so naturally it was like I just knew how to be truly great at something without any instruction. Any running event there was at school even though I couldn’t play sports, even though I couldn’t go to any fancy sports or running camp, I would beat everyone. And everyone knew I’d beat them. By a lot. That feeling was…indescribable. But to watch it slowly erode over time was unfathomably painful. To watch the gap that you beat everyone by get smaller and smaller. That for me was a different kind of heartache that I didn’t experience until much later in life when I understood how much that gap could’ve changed my life. The opportunities that I could’ve had. The schools I could’ve attended. The career I could’ve attained. It stings. I think a lot of the things I’ve done in life were almost to try to recreate that feeling of knowing that I was amazing at something.
When I went back to college one of the first things I did was enroll in sports. I couldn’t enroll in track because I missed the deadline. So of course I picked rugby. And it was sooo much fun! But I wasn’t good at it like I was with track. I wasn’t bad. It just didn’t have that same feeling that track did to me. But I still loved it.
So…what am I good at?? Hmm…..not going to the gym. I’m good at that. Does that count?