100 Greatest women
For my 8th birthday, my mom gives me this book – ‘100 Greatest Women’. I remember it vividly: her eyes brimming with pride (or madness) as she plunks, ‘I hope you one day you make the list’!
Yeah, it’s not a gift – it’s a challenge. ‘Hey, you’ve learned shapes. Time to work on becoming a historical figure!’.
Thanks for the faith, Mom. I was hoping for a kitten.
Another birthday, another book, another impossible benchmark. It’s like if SHE felt the pressure to outdo herself.
“100 Greatest Russians”, “100 Greatest Diplomats”, “100 Greatest Philosophers”… I was beginning to dread birthdays… “100 Greatest Scientists”, “100 Greatest Writers”.
And then, just in case I had any lingering self-esteem left – the final nail in the casket: “100 Greatest People Who Ever Lived”… ‘Happy birthday! I hope you make the list’!
Drawing the Venn diagram of these “100 greats” is like trying to find common ground between a sea-otter and a toaster. Leonardo Da Vinci? Genius – not a woman. Virginia Woolf? Incredible writer – not Russian. Catherine the Great? Conquered nations – not a single Nobel Prize.
The Venn diagram of these “100 greats”, is less like intersecting circles and more like a dot. And guess what? I’m. Not. In. It! Not. Even. Close. Nah-uh! I’m galaxies away and expanding.
It’s over there and I…
…I’m out in the parking garage – looking for my Camry.
So, yeah, Mom, I’m on it! I’ll get right on becoming the 101st greatest person—as soon as I find where the hell I parked.
If there’s a book titled “101 Greatest Moms Who Put Way Too Much Pressure on Their Kids”, I know who’s making the cover.
Look, my mom is not a bad person. I bet she was trying to inspire me – not set me up for a lifetime of therapy. And even if she WAS imposing an impossible standard on a KID, after 25, putting pressure to live up to an arbitrary listicle is on ME…
Perhaps, there is greatness in acknowledging that you’re a perfectly average, car-loosing, coffee-on-keyboard-spilling, what-was-your-name-again? schmuck. Perhaps, my real achievement can be in saying, ‘Hey, history, I’m not on your silly list, and I’m okay with that.’
So, here to the underachievers, the late bloomers, and everyone who has ever felt they’re not enough. Let’s write our own book: “100 Okay People Who Are Perfectly Fine With Being Average.”