Yesterday I mentioned that I was not at all sorry to see the end of the year.
Still, I admit to feeling uncomfortable with the number of “new year, new me” posts on social media in the past 24 hours.
New year? Undoubtedly. New beginnings? Sure.
But I am not a “new me”.
I am the same old me: the one who survived the trauma, grew stronger through it, and resolved to keep going.
I am the me who worked hard for every one of my achievements: nobody else was ever going to do it for me.
I am the me who stood tall in the face of false friends and two-faced people, and then walked away and slammed the door on them for good.
I am the me who refused to be intimidated by those who don’t understand me… the me who will not be ashamed of who and what I am.
I am the me who embraces creativity, individuality, and difference… and encourages others to do the same.
I am the me who encourages young people to choose kindness and reject hate.
Those are all good things. Powerful things. Brave things.
I have earned them, and I will own them.
I’m not perfect. I still have things to learn and growth to accomplish.
But those who would prefer a different, more comfortable, easier-to-live-with me? They can go and boil their heads, because that’s not going to happen.
Believe it or not, I’m one in a million.
A million authors writing to entertain others.
A million poets bleeding their souls onto the page.
A million people trying to help others.
A million people who are actually loyal.
A million teachers going the extra mile for their kids.
A million people caring for someone they love.
It might be easy to get lost in the crowd.
It’s easy to feel insignificant.
One tree among a million in the forest, so to speak.
But I know I am one in a million.
We all write and grieve and serve and give of ourselves differently.
Each of us is unique.
Each of us is a distinct blend of personality, talent and substance.
Not a single one of us is worthless.
I may not stand out among the million.
I may never strike it rich or become famous.
I may never be someone else’s ideal.
I cannot be perfect.
The truth is, I don’t have to.None of us do.
What matters is the contrast with some of the other people on this planet: the hateful, the cruel, the greedy, the selfish, the power-hungry, the narcissists.
What matters is that I stand against the things they accept.
What matters is that I am true to who I am, to my priorities, my values, my faith.
What matters is integrity.
That’s what stands out in this world.
That, more than anything else, makes me one in a million.