Exception to the rule

I have allowed myself to be treated as unexceptional all my life. I knew I was smart. I knew I was able to do things more quickly and more effectively than most people. I knew I was different. That part was encouraged in my family. The “be proud of yourself, you don’t want to be like everyone else” kind of thinking. It felt supportive. It felt like approval.

My family related to each other through achievement. I saw my brother and sister bring home trophies and ribbons and awards and my parents embraced those and them and I knew that to bring home a trophy was to bring home love. I never did that. I never brought home a trophy. I never brought home love.

I chose different. I chose to be in a creative endeavor instead of an athletic one. It was uncharted territory. There weren’t trophies, there were performances. There weren’t games where I could score or skate or spike. There were songs and dances and moments. No one got it. No one understood it. No one valued it. It was nice, it was fun, it was… It wasn’t something you could put on a dresser and point at and say, “Wow, I did that.” You could point at the stage in the moment and, maybe later, at a review and say wow. But the love couldn’t be brought home and shared because there was nothing tangible to share.

I got mixed messages of value. My folks came and saw the shows they could and they always seemed proud. They have even made comments over the years about the fact that I’m an artist and a director and all of that. But without a common vocabulary, they have never given it a value. There has never been a discussion after a show or a film I’ve done as to what went into it or how much fun it was or how good it was. “That was fun,” is the closest thing I’ve gotten out of my mom. I’ve never gotten the list of what they liked or what was good or how excited they are about something new I’m doing. There’s never been discouragement. In fact, they’ve financed most of my creative endeavors, showing their support.

But just once, I’d love to hear about pride and acceptance and value in what I do. Because without it, I’ve spent my life thinking my gifts mean nothing. I married two men who supported that theory, seemingly threatened by my abilities, unable to give me the approval I so badly needed to really embrace the things I loved so much. I gave up dancing after my first divorce because I felt it had no value because it seemed to give him pain when he saw me do it well. He made a comment once that felt so familiar – I was warming up for a dance recital and he was watching me on pointe, standing next to another dancer. Instead of saying, “Wow, look what she can do!”, I got, “And she wonders why I won’t go out dancing with her.” My gifts had diminished him so, therefore, their value was diminished. Those words have haunted me all these years.

My second husband found every way possible to devalue my talents. Not surprising, considering that is what felt familiar. I was not talented, I was not exceptional, even though I had moments where I could see and feel the value and the gifts I had. I knew I was different, I was somehow more than I was allowed to feel. But I was always devalued by those around me, including a group of friends whose own ambitions have strangled them over the years.

I learned how to fight being exceptional. Spread the applause around. Don’t take credit for anything. Fit in. Don’t stand out. Praise was unfamiliar and difficult because it didn’t feel “normal.” I was never given praise so, therefore, I did not deserve it. My gifts were never given true value so, therefore, they must be worthless. I was different, I was not special.

These past couple of years have begun to teach me to find my own value. Recently, my work and my collaborations have allowed me to place value on what I do, without requiring outside approval, without needing someone to validate that value. Tonight, because of a growing body of work and working with collaborators who allow me to shine, I embrace the fact that I am exceptional. Not in an arrogant, oh, look at me, how exceptional am I, kind of way. Just that I know what I do is not something everyone can do. And I may never have the trophies and the ribbons and the accolades in print that my siblings had. And I accept that I will probably never have the validation from my parents that I so desperately seek. I accept that the only value I can get is what I myself put into what I do. I value my gifts. I treasure every single second that I get to do what I do so well and what I love to do. I accept that I am an exceptional director and writer in this town that so rewards mediocrity. It means that I am different and that is sometimes devalued because it doesn’t feel “right” or familiar. It’s different so, therefore, must be bad. But I will no longer allow this town or my family or outside influences convince me that what I do is not of value. It is valuable to me and that is the most important thing.

The icing on the cake is that I get to share that exceptional, valued, treasured piece of me with people of such extraordinary talent that they challenge me to prove my exceptionalness on a regular basis. They raise the bar, which is rewarding because it means there was a bar in the first place. They show me the value of my gifts without speaking every time they agree to work with me and show me how excited they are by what we do and what we achieve. They value me every day with their friendship and their collaboration. They value me without requiring a validation in return.

So your assignment for today is find that thing in your that is exceptional. Don’t run from it, don’t hide it, don’t fear it. To give in to mediocrity – whether it’s a job you hate or a relationship you know is over or a career that is not going where you want it to go – is to kill that exceptional soul and those exceptional gifts that reside in all of us. Find your exceptionalness and force the world to see it and embrace it. And if they don’t, fuck ‘em. Embrace it yourself and let mediocrity watch from the sidelines, belly-aching the whole time and wondering why it’s being left behind.