Finally, I can be great

I always had this belief that I would be successful.

Not to go all Freud on you, but this started with my mother, who instilled some big dreams in my head as a lad. She pushed me to memorize the math tables that swirled in my head. The B plus was a sign of failure. The second-place wasn’t good enough.

“You can do better.”

     Pilot.
     Scientist.
Any of those professions would be fine with her.

But there were the realities. And they were biggies. I couldn’t stand the sight of blood. I was color blind and could never fly. I couldn’t figure out physics.

I wasn’t ready to concede. After all, I wasn’t normal like the other kids, or so I thought. Let’s just say, I didn’t have self-esteem issues.  I swallowed a lot of that medicine, actually believing that I was above average, special, and skilled.

I depended on my ability and was frustrated when I was told I “couldn’t.” So I began to pretend I was all of those things. Confidence is one thing, but pride is another. And it’s a very thin line to walk.

Now, at this ripe middle age, I’m at the point where I’m comfortable in my own skin. I laugh about my inabilities. If my abilities aren’t so hot, that’s fine. But I still feel the fire to do something, to be somebody.
But reading the red letters really tells me something.

“If you want to be great,” He said. “Learn to the be servant of all.“

Now, I wanna be great, but in a different way. And that will chase away the negative frustrations and usher in joy.

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