Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns
If you think Jesus would have come into your home that day and not issued a strong rebuke to the head of household, you are mistaken. These words of condemnation have been haunting me for days now. They aren’t all that different than the soundtrack I play in my head on an almost-daily basis. It’s…
I am nesting. On Saturday I emptied the refrigerator. Last summer’s homemade pickles in their jars. The bread ends that seem to multiply on every shelf. The eggs. The milk. The fruit and veggies. All of it sat on the floor or the counter as I carefully removed the shelves and wiped them down with…
I’ve heard that life is like a highway. And it definitely seems like that sometimes. The pace of life swirls around me at dizzying speeds. We’re all so busy. In such a hurry. Always somewhere to be, something else to do. I’m a get-to-the-point, get-there-quick kind of girl. I don’t like to waste time on…
The forecast called for morning snow the next day, and in January and February, especially, there’s always murmuring about a school delay or a snow day. (Kids are hoping for it; parents often not.) We woke up before the sun and the snow hadn’t started falling yet. It was one of the weekdays where we needed to take a bus into the city to pick up the van before school in time for the kids to catch their bus to school and for me to go to work. (It sounds more complicated than it is.)
The snow started just before we left the house for the first bus of the morning, but we took our umbrella and the wait wasn’t long. The snow was falling steadily but not heavy, and I always find the snow more charming when I’m not the one driving (or if I don’t have anywhere to go at all). We walked a couple of blocks through the city to the parking garage where we picked up our van and drove back out of the city to our house. We had just enough time to grab the backpacks and walk to where the school bus picks up.
As we waited, I noticed the snowflakes sticking to my daughter’s hair. And I gasped.
There, on the back of her head, was a beautiful, perfect snowflake, so tiny and detailed I almost thought it wasn’t real. I captioned it “tiny wonder” on Instagram because that’s all I could think to say about it.
If this wasn’t a special snowflake, I don’t know what is.
—
Special snowflakes. It’s a phrase I can’t remember ever hearing until maybe a year or so ago. Apparently it’s been around for a while, maybe made more popular by the 1996 novel Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk. (And the movie by the same name.)
All I really know about the phrase is it’s hardly ever kind. In fact, I had to look it up just to be sure I was understanding it correctly after my husband questioned my definition of the term. (We were both right.)
One of the definitions Wikipedia lists is “a person who has an inflated sense of their own uniqueness.” (A further search reveals that the term snowflake has racist roots. That is so not where I’m heading with this blog post, but now I want to know more about that usage!)
It’s meant to be an insult, I think. A derogatory commentary on someone’s supposed special-ness. I’ve never used it to describe anyone and no one has ever said it to my face, but just the thought of it being said about me makes me feel sad and ashamed. It’s like another way of saying, “And just who do you think you are?”
In my previous post on the topic of identity, I wrote that we can’t all be stars because some of us are made for supporting roles. I stand by that. But that doesn’t mean that being unique or special is somehow wrong.
In fact, I think that every single one of us IS a special snowflake. And we were made to be that way.
Photo by Levi Saunders on Unsplash
—
Maybe we can’t prove that all literal snowflakes are unique. (I’ve heard that’s true, but is there science to back that up?) Maybe that’s a mystery we’ll always have to wonder about. But when I think about all the people I know (and all the ones I don’t) it’s not hard to argue that every human is a unique being. Even identical twins are not exactly the same in every way, although they probably come the closest.
Every person’s experiences, upbringing, and personality add to an endless combination of possibilities of how those traits are expressed. The Enneagram teachers I follow (see my last post about my love for this personality profile) say that no two people, even if they have the same number on the Enneagram, will express it exactly the same way. (If the numbers were colors, for example, they might all be blue, but they won’t be the same shade of blue.)
So, why does this idea that someone else might be special offend us so much? Why do we have to turn something wonderful about a person–their uniqueness–into an insult?
—
I don’t know what you were told as a child or what things have been spoken over your life through the years. My own head is a cluttered mess of the most hurtful things I’ve ever heard said about me. (Why do I hang on to those and not the good ones?) Recently, I sorted through a box of cards and letters I’ve received in my life (because the box was overflowing and not everything needs to be kept) and I found so many encouraging and lovely words about me and my presence in this world or in someone’s life.
It is a lost art, this telling others what we see in them or how they’ve affected our existence. I struggle, sometimes, to believe that I matter to anyone, that my presence makes a difference in the world. This is one of the shadow sides, as they say, of my personality. But in the last year, especially, I’ve seen how presence is the gift I’ve been given to give back to the world around me. It is small and almost imperceptible, but it changes things and people. It is the reason, I think, that I love my job so much. A lot of it is just being present and paying attention. (You can read more about my goal for the year to be awake.)
But I don’t think that what I have is any more special than what anyone else has. I think it is one small part of something much bigger, a tapestry of humanity that needs every single thread to make a work of art.
—
Maybe this tendency we have to deride someone else’s uniqueness by calling them a “special snowflake” (or saying they aren’t one) has its roots in our wounds and insecurities. I think we sometimes want to downplay another’s gift because we don’t know what our own is. If someone else is special, then we might feel less special if we don’t yet know what our specialness is. It’s okay to not know. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. I fully believe that if you are a living, breathing human on this planet right this second then you have something to offer the world at large. It is no accident that you exist in this time and place.
Uniqueness has no scarcity. If your sister or best friend or mortal enemy is a unique human being that doesn’t mean you’ve been shorted in that department. Your unique contribution to the world is only different, not less. You were not left out when uniqueness was handed out.
Photo by Dakota Corbin on Unsplash
And it’s possible that we only see our special gift in isolation. If one snowflake fell from the sky today, would anyone care? But when millions of snowflakes combine to drop multiple inches of snow on the ground, people take notice. Maybe your unique gift needs to be combined with someone else’s to realize its (your) full potential.
This has been a lot of words to say one simple thing: You are a special snowflake. And so is the human sitting next to you. And when you receive that truth with gratitude, as a gift to share with the world, you don’t have to worry about whether anyone else agrees. It doesn’t make you entitled to more. It doesn’t give you license to dominate anyone else.
But it does make you free to be you and live life to your fullest potential.
A few weeks ago we took our kids to see the newest Star Wars movie. It’s only been since last summer that they’ve caught up on the originals (Parts 4,5, and 6) and last fall when they saw The Force Awakens. Like many kids their age, they love the characters and stories and have started collecting memorabilia. (Our son got a Lego Millennium Falcon for his last birthday. He’s 8.)
So, on a recent night when I was losing my cool because of all the video games winter has forced us to play, the two of them and I took to the couch for a coloring session. Music often helps to calm us so we chose a John Williams station on Amazon music. We heard not only our favorite theme music from Star Wars but all the other masterpieces Williams has created. (The list is longer than I could have told you before that night.)
Photo by Isaac Ibbott on Unsplash
We got to talking about the music and how it adds to the movie experience. I asked them how the Imperial March made them feel when they heard it. How different would it be, I asked, if when Darth Vader marches on screen the music was more like a circus theme. They laughed and laughed.
John Williams is a talented composer, and I know that he gets a lot of credit for his work. But I wonder how many people who have watched the movies featuring his scores fully appreciate his contributions. I mean, what would Superman or Indiana Jones be without their recognizable theme songs?
In some cases, I feel like the answer might be “nothing.” The music adds a layer of depth taking an interesting character and making him (or her) unforgettable.
—
My new job is a supporting role. I’m not a teacher. I’m an aide. My official title has a fancier name, but my day-in, day-out duties are assisting someone who has more knowledge, experience and credentials than I do.
Ten years ago, that might have bothered me, but I feel exactly the opposite. I have never felt more perfectly suited for a job in all my years of work. (I have come to realize that my writing is more art/calling than job, but that’s a post for another day.) I show up. I help where I’m needed. I go home satisfied because my presence mattered in a real and tangible way. (Some days, it feels more intangible, but that’s rare.)
In the world where most of us live (I was going to say “real world” but Hollywood is part of the real world and acting is a viable way to make a living if that is your gift and talent), there aren’t a lot of prizes for a job well done. There’s little recognition for a supporting role in life. No one is going to hand me a trophy for showing up to work every day and giving it my best effort and maybe making a difference in someone’s life.
But the truth is I don’t need a trophy. Because I’m doing exactly what I need to be doing with my life.
Photo by Ariel Lustre on Unsplash
I wouldn’t make it past the audition round of American Idol and I would fall flat on my face in the meantime. Even if by some miracle I was cast in some kind of TV show or movie, I would be miserable. I don’t like people looking at me all the time and I’m definitely not a performer. (Unless I feel really comfortable with you and can crack a bunch of terrible jokes in succession. Or if I’m telling a really interesting story.)
I couldn’t work in the medical field because I don’t like bodily fluids and I have an overactive gag reflex. Even my job as a journalist, which I worked for almost 10 years, was a not-quite-right fit. I am less detail-oriented than I would like to think, and I often missed asking the obvious questions.
One month into my new job and I feel more “accomplished” than I did in 10 years of journalism. But then again, I don’t think I could have done this job all those years ago. I needed more time to figure out who I was than who I thought I wanted to be.
—
It’s awards season. The TV channels are full of Oscars and Globes and Emmys and Grammys, and I am always six steps behind what’s new and popular, but I have a casual interest in these things. There are recognitions for all kinds of behind-the-scenes contributions, some we never even hear about. And because we focus so much on the stars–the leading actors and actresses, especially, the awards for supporting roles sometimes feel like a lesser prize.
(Am I alone in thinking this?)
I wonder what kind of message we send to kids of this generation when we spend so much time adoring the stars–in movies, sports and music. Why can’t being good at something ordinary that perfectly suits us be enough?
—
I suspect the answer to that question lies in part with our inability to really know ourselves. From the time we are young, we are given clues about who and what people want us to be. Most of the time, we mean no harm when we comment on a child’s personality, but I wonder how much of it shapes who they become. Or who they think they have to become.
In the last year, I’ve become obsessed (I don’t think that’s too strong of a word) with the Enneagram. It’s a personality assessment, I guess, but it’s more like a mirror into your true self. I have learned more about myself through the Enneagram in the last year-plus than I have maybe in the last decade. (I hope that doesn’t sound like an exaggeration.) I know more about why I do some of the things I do and how I need to change. Maybe most importantly, especially in light of what I’ve been writing about supporting roles, I know that my presence matters. That might not sound like any big revelation but’s that probably because you aren’t the same Enneagram type as me.
Knowing that my presence makes a difference in the world, that my voice matters, it changes how I go about my day, and it convinces me that this support job I do five days a week is an appropriate use of my life.
I’m almost 40 years old and I’m just learning this. I hope that you are further ahead in this area than I am. But if you’re not, could I encourage you to invest in learning about yourself? The more you know about who you are, what you’re suited for, and why you do what you do, the more likely you’ll be to find your role in the world. It might be a starring one. It might be a supporting one. It might be one no else understands.
Photo by Nicole Smith on Unsplash
But as long as it’s the right one for you, the world will be a better place.