How A Stranger Explained I’m Terrible…At Everything…You, Too?
I was found out this week.
Word is out.
I’m terrible at my job.
All of them.
The notice came from you.
Well, one of you.
A reader took time to send me an email telling me she hates my column.
There’s nothing worth reading in this space.
And by the way,
I’m not the best girlfriend, wife, or mother.
“Which one of my kids did she get her hands on?” I wondered as her comments immediately had great credibility.
No doubt they would share that I’m not the best mom.
“You’re weird. Don’t talk to me,” are common refrains.
Laced with, “Can I have some money or borrow your car?”
Apparently, I’m not the only one with room for improvement on technique.
I am pretty sure Former Reader didn’t hear about my numerous faults from Husband, as he is kind and likes me.
Well, most days.
Then, there is this writing thing.
Of all weeks to be reminded I’m not all that.
This is the week my new book is out.
The new book means this is the week that I took a step out.
Took a chance.
That someone might like my writing enough to buy a book or twelve.
It’s scary to step out.
I know I’m not the only one who took a chance this week.
Maybe, you did, too.
Went for the promotion at work.
Asked someone out for the first time.
Started a new exercise class where your body doesn’t match anyone else’s in the room.
And maybe you, too, heard this week that you’re not all that.
Who was it?
Your mother who has always thought that no matter what you do, it’s not enough?
And that brings me back to this column.
I suspect the less than satisfied reader thinks I use this space to show off or boast.
Actually, my intent is the exact opposite.
I’m not the best.
There’s the shock, awe, and joy of coming to marriage and motherhood later in life.
Of reinventing a career.
That’s what the bosses here told me to start sharing four years ago.
I imagine some weeks you think I get it right.
Some weeks, you think, “Eh.”
Thing is, one person’s “Eh” is another’s inspiration.
That’s what keeps me here.
Keeps me writing.
About my messes.
So, for you, who was told this week you’re not all that.
For you, who got back out there anyway.
Who is trying again.
Who has the slightest sliver of a belief that your next try might be it.
That in the very least, you’ll get it better next time.
You’ve been found out.
I just want to say, “You rock.”