Remarkable

(Originally posted 1/4/2010)
When you get right down to it, I think all each of us really wants is to matter.

To know that in some small way, the world is different for our having been here. To see that lives have been affected by our actions or decisions. To believe we won’t be easily forgotten when we are gone.

We each want, in our own way, to be remarkable.

Some people seem born ready to meet this challenge. You know who I’m talking about. The person who owns any room they walk into. The student so gifted teachers stand back in awe, proud just to lay claim to any part of molding this genius. The woman with a hundred “best friends”, each of whom would assign her a place on their speed dial, the position of Maid of Honor in their wedding and the title of Godmother to their children. The man who effortlessly finds wealth and influence and wears them like a well tailored suit. The person who, instead of just talking about changing the world, does.

I always kind of hate these people. It’s hard to see someone fall effortlessly into a thing you so desperately crave for yourself. But then again, I suppose I always love them too, since I seem to have a surprising number of friends who fit this description.

Don’t get me wrong-- we all love our friends. We all think them talented in their own ways. But what happens when the people in your social circle are exceptional even to those unfamiliar with all the little details usually needed to elevate a person to the position of “extraordinary” ?

I have friends who are, by any standard, talented musicians, artists, photographers, comedians and philosophers. I have friends who are remarkable in their beauty or awe inspiring in their ability to bring change to a world in need. I have friends who are, as I type this, working to help children who have cancer, engineering some modern marvel, seeking social justice, running newspapers or being “that person” that is most essential to a happy life to more people than I even know.

My friends are teachers and lawyers and social workers and independent thinkers and fashionistas and, oh yeah, a bunch of them save lives for a living. EMS workers, 9-1-1 operators and police officers-- you know who you are.

Worst of all are the writers. The gifted writers who have published works in actual books or who became actual journalists, not just hacks who feel lucky if two people click “Like” on a Facebook note, like yours truly. The ones who write the things we feel and make me wonder why the words look so beautiful when left to their minds to assemble. They are the worst, because they are the ones who actually do the only thing I ever thought I had a shot at doing, but who prove me wrong because their talent next to mine is calligraphy to crayon.

Because like I said, all each of us wants, really is to matter. And while we all rejoice at the successes of good people and acknowledge that any greatness in the world benefits us all, there are times when a small, selfish voice says “Why not me?”

We all want to be remarkable. But what happens when you are an unremarkable person in a group of remarkably remarkable folks?

What I tell myself, is that we are all blessed in our own ways. Cliché, yes, but it helps keep jealousy at bay. The choices I’ve made will never yield spotlights or book deals or rasping thanks from the family of a loved one saved by my hand.

But.

But I was given a child. Two, soon. And while a lot of people take that for granted, I never, never will. To me, that alone is an extraordinary opportunity-- one I’ve seen too many amazing people denied to ever take lightly. More than that, my meager talent has afforded me the opportunity to work from home, writing small things for small paychecks, allowing me to spend my days beside a small person as she grows to do big things.

Because we can’t all be remarkable. The thing that makes some people extraordinary is the fact that some of us are cast in the role of, well, ordinary. We get to clap when they bow, laugh when they joke, sway to the music they make and marvel at the moments they have captured.

And that has to be enough.

So, while I will still, no doubt, get thinly veiled looks of pity when seeing another successful friend who asks “what are you doing these days?” or even fade entirely from the minds of rising stars moving to places my vague influence won’t reach, I’ll tell myself that though I’ll never be much to very many, I’ll be all I can to the those who need it.

Because all we really want is to matter. And in this small way, I know I do.