I owe Taylor Swift an apology. I had thoughts, shared them on Facebook and I got schooled. I deserved it too, and now I am sorry. Truly sorry. So sorry that I am posting my faux pas, my blunder, my moment of less-than-Faydraliciousness.
I was having a bad day
Not like an epic bad day. Not like one of the days where the world was crashing down on me, more like one of those days when things weren’t as awesome as they could have been. I was tired and I had been driving a long time and while I was driving I was listening to podcasts. My favorite podcast features entrepreneurs and their failure and success stories. The goal is that the listener feels the pain of the failure, right there with the guest, and then feels the sunshine break through the clouds afterward, as they tell how they overcame their entrepreneurial belly flop. Usually I am one with the pain. I resonate with the journey and I am metaphorically standing in ovation when I hear the success, but not that day. I LOVE the pain-point of the podcasts because they remind me that I am not alone. Neither are you BTW
That day the guest told his mind-blowing failure of epic proportions and it pissed me off. Mind you, this is a guy making a ton of money and his biggest failure was…….. are you ready?????…….. He got a D in a college class.
I almost chucked my iPhone through the windshield. I almost stopped listening to my favorite podcast because I was seriously underwhelmed by this guy and what I had determined was his lame-a** excuse for a failure.
Then I got my hair cut
While I was sitting under the dryer waiting for the color to be burned into my hair follicles, ummmmmmm yes, I am a woman of a certain age…… I decided to flip through a magazine.
That’s when I saw it and lost my mind
Brave lives in the moment. Ummmmmm There was nothing about this ad that screamed BRAVE to me. Nothing. It put me over the edge. First the guy with the D and now this? A D is the worst life-shattering event in a life? This is the picture of bravery? OMG a thousand images flooded my thoughts of what brave looked like and none of them involved Keds and Taylor Swift on location with Craft Services nearby. None of them.
In my self-righteous snark, I posted this to Facebook:
I totally believed what I said. I totally believed that Mr. D-in-his-class and Taylor Swift were catastrophic crisis rejects and that neither of their struggles were valid or worth being on a famous podcast or a national ad campaign. I based this on my own story and the countless stories I know about what I deemed brave. My Facebook post was my attempt to put on my crisis super hero cape and pontificate my way to being a bravery know-it-all.
As you can imagine, I got a TON of support. Lots of people reinforced my superior stance that neither Mr. D or Ms. Swift deserved to fly their bravery freak flags.
But then this comment showed up
I got schooled
Rachel was right. Just because the tapes that play in my head about what is brave didn’t initially include images like this ad or smaller failures like a D in a class, I diminished their impact. I marginalized them.
I hate when that happens
I hate when I realize that I am a life-long learner who doesn’t always get it right and misses the mark. I hate it and I crave it. I crave to be reminded of the ways I am too big for my britches and that I am not as evolved as I would like to be. I crave the instances when I am shown that I still hold judgmental thoughts even though I don’t want to. It was the Apostle Paul in Romans 7:15 who said “I do not understand what I do. For what I do want to do I do not do, but what I hate, I do.”
Why do I do that?
Because I am tired, I am human and I am jealous that there are people in this world Like Mr. D and Taylor Swift who have not had what some would call horrendous things happen. That doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things. The impression I got is influenced by my filters and let’s face it, some filters need to be hosed off once in a while.
So Mr. D and Taylor Swift I am sorry. I am so sorry that I marginalized your ability to impact others. Sometimes I need the Rachel’s of my life to remind me of that.