BUT WHAT ABOUT ME

When I got dressed this morning, pulled on that nice shirt, those clean pants, those silly socks… I wanted to look good. But I didn’t do it for you. I did it for me.

I like the way I feel when I look good. When I know that my clothes match. It’s not about how you see me, it’s not about having someone stop me on the road and say “oh my God you’re picture perfect”, it’s not so that I get compliments and people ask me where I buy those shoes… It’s just for me. How it makes me feel inside. How I hold myself up when I know I look good.

When I walked into work today, ready to go, coffee in hand, prepared for my day with my checklist of items that needed to be accomplished, when I satisfied all your needs quickly and then stepped up for other tasks, I wanted you to be happy. I wanted you to know that I was a good worker and was going to take care of you. But I didn’t do it for you. I did it for me.

I like the job I do, the work I do, the way I hold myself. It makes me feel good to know that I helped out others, accomplished a lot of tasks, and did it with a smile on my face and a spring in my step. But it was never about you. Yes I’m glad you know that I do a good job, I’m glad I made you happy… But it was more about me.

When I bought you that gift… That beautiful red dress that made your eyes pop, and matched your shoes perfectly. That dress that made you look like $1 million… I wanted you to like it. I wanted you to love it. I wanted you to look fabulous in it. I wanted it to light up your whole face with the joy of knowing how you looked. But I didn’t do it for you. I did it for me.

I liked giving it to you. I liked surprising you, I liked the way it made me feel to know that I had helped beautify the world by adding beauty to you. I like giving, without expecting anything in return. That made me smile, and to see you smile made me smile even more. I love making you happy, but I didn’t do any of it for you. That was just me being selfish, and making myself feel good.

And this poem, this story, this writing that you’re reading right now… that makes you think, that makes you smile, that makes you connect deeply inside yourself, and wonder why you do all the things you do. This writing, I hope it affects you. I hope you think it’s brilliant, and that it makes you smile… But make no mistake. It has nothing to do with you. I do it for me.

Connecting with my muse, spinning a tale, playing with words and the way they sound in my head and on the page makes me feel good. Connects me to my purpose. Reminds me that I’m still alive, and still have something left to give.

I want you to like it, I want you to love it, I want you to read it and applaud and say oh my god he’s brilliant… But that’s not why I do it.

If no one ever reads this, if no one sees it, or gives it a second glance… It’s still fulfilled my purpose.

I wrote it for me.

I wrote it because I can.

I wrote it because I love being creative.

I wrote it because it made me feel alive, reminded me that I still care, and made me feel good that I still had things to say.

I did it for me. I did it all for me.

And I’m glad I did it.