The other day, I was puttering around the kitchen, minding my own business, not even realizing that I was singing a song. I often do this, because I enjoy singing. I don’t usually plan to sing. It just happens.
My 7-year-old came into the kitchen, put his hands on his hips and said, “That’s not the way that song goes.” He then showed me how the song actually went. I laughed, of course. I often make songs my own—not just with the structure and feel of the song but also with lyrics. I like to make up my own lyrics when I can’t understand what the singers are actually saying.
My son said, “No, really. That’s how the song goes.”
I said, “I know. But I’ll sing it however I want.”
I didn’t realize, at the time, how profound these words would become. They tumbled about in my brain all day, until I realized something glaringly obvious but not often recognized by us.
There is a temptation we all feel when we see work we admire—-or even people we admire. We want to produce that kind of work. We want to be those kinds of people. When I read books I absolutely love, I want to write those kinds of books. When I hear music that moves me, I want to write that kind of music.
This happened several months ago, when I heard a song by Kelly Clarkson called “Piece By Piece.” I could have written this song. I should have written this song. She wrote it about my life. I wanted to write one just like it about my life. I tried. I tried for two weeks before I put the pen down and finally said, “This is not me. I don’t write like this.”
It happens to all of us. We see parents we admire whose kids do everything they say, and we want to be them. We see that person dressed to the nines, and here we are in workout clothes like we always are—-we want to be them. Or, if you’re like me, you see people who let things roll right off them—-no matter how devastating—-and you want to be them. I want to be unhindered by extravagant worry. I want to embrace whatever comes with a smile. I want to break free from the suffocating clutch of my anxiety.
But I am me, and they are them.
The best thing we can possibly do is be ourselves—neuroses and all. Weird and all. Hang-ups and all. Sure, we can always learn and grow—that’s why there’s an entire self-help market on the bookstore shelves. We don’t have to remain as we are—we can always improve.
But we can never be them. Because we are us.
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What we all have to offer the world is our unique individuality, our unique viewpoint, our unique contribution. Sing your song however you want to—it is your unique, valuable contribution to the world.
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I hope you’ve enjoyed this inside look at my life and a moment of inspiration with my boys. Every Friday, I publish a short blog on something personal that includes a valuable takeaway. For more of my essays and memoir writings, visit Wing Chair Musings.
