100 Greatest women
For my 8th birthday, my mom gives me this book – ‘100 Greatest Women’. I remember her eyes brimming with pride as she drops, “I hope you one day you make the list!”.
Um… That’s not a gift – that’s a homework. “Hey, you’ve learned shapes. Time to work on becoming a historical figure!”.
Thanks, Mom. I was hoping for a kitten.
It didn’t stop there. Another birthday, another book, another impossible benchmark.
‘100 Greatest Russians’, ‘100 Greatest Philosophers’, ‘100 Greatest Scientists’, ‘100 Greatest Writers’. It’s like SHE felt the pressure to outdo herself.
Then, the final nail in the coffin: ‘100 Greatest People Ever’… “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. I’m galaxies away – and expanding.
It’s over there and I…
…I’m out in the parking garage – looking for my Camry.
But 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 ‘101 Greatest Moms Who Put Way Too Much Pressure on Their Kids’, I know who’ll be making a cover.
Now, 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…
And I KNOW 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 IS in saying, “Hey, history, I’m not on your silly list, and I’m okay with that.”
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.’