Читать книгу Be That Unicorn - Jenny Block - Страница 10

I like to think of myself as being That Unicorn. I also have an inner unicorn. His name is Herbert—Herbie for short. That was my papa’s name. Papa died on Valentine’s Day in 1988, and he was also a unicorn. He found his magic, lived his truth, and shared his shine. Oh, how he shared it. You could not be around him, not even for a moment, without feeling all the love. I tell everyone I was his favorite grandchild, but I believe he made each of his grandchildren feel like his favorite. He came to every rehearsal for every play I ever did. He took me out to breakfast at the Ideal Diner, just him and me, before anyone else in the house woke up. And he always gave me a little bit of cash. “A person needs some walking-around money,” he would tell me.

On the way to his funeral, I swear I saw him standing on the corner, wearing the hat with the feather in it and a string tie, jingling the change in his pocket. He nodded at me. “You got this, kid,” I imagined him saying. I hear him say that in my head every time I need a little push.

Papa was sad sometimes. Undiagnosed depression, I imagine. He would sit alone now and again, eyes closed, lost in his thoughts. But after he had some time to “rest his eggies,” as he would say, he would put on his hat and motion to the door: “Let’s get out of here.” Then he would take me on one sort of adventure or another. Papa was my hero. Herbert is my unicorn. Everyone needs an inner unicorn.

Being That Unicorn isn’t about being perfect. It isn’t about glossing over the hard stuff or the sad stuff. It’s about being true to yourself and not letting life hold you down, because it certainly will try. The only real magic in the world is the magic you will find inside your own head. You can use it to hold you up and propel you forward and to help others to do the same. You use it when you feel like you just can’t.

“Herbert, we’ve got to wrangle this,” I whisper in my own ear, and away we go. Sometimes, I imagine him carrying me into battle. It’s a silly image, I suppose. But I kind of love it. It makes me smile and it gives me that little push I need to do the things that of course I can do, despite fearing that I can’t.

You don’t have to name your unicorn. Ultimately, your unicorn is you. But it helps me to feel like I have an ongoing partner in crime. It means I’m never alone. Herbert is my spirit guide, my magic feather, my Jiminy Cricket, my inner voice. To be That Unicorn is to heed that whisper that never falters. The magic is in discovering and trusting what you’re hearing, that consistent message that says you are amazing.

You are amazing…and yet things are still going to get messed up now and again. Here’s the difference between unicorns and everyone else: That Unicorn knows it’s worth picking up the pieces. What’s the other choice anyway? Wallowing? That’s no fun and so very unproductive. And that’s not the person we look up to and long to be. It just isn’t. We long to be the person who walks through life horn up, not horn down. Who doesn’t ignore the puddles, but instead puts on her boots and jumps through them. Who doesn’t leave others in the muck, but leads the way around the mess. Who treats others the way she wants to be treated, not for gain but simply (as my wife likes to say) because it’s the right thing to do.

That Unicorn knows that the natural enemy of life is becoming overwhelmed. When we get overwhelmed, we lose sight of what we wanted in the first place. That Unicorn is an ace at keeping her eye on the prize. To live like That Unicorn is the ultimate goal. The good news is, we don’t have to be perfect at it. The great news is, with our inner unicorn as our guide, we just might have a chance at doing a pretty darn good job of it.

All day long and from every angle, we hear what we should be doing, how we should be doing it, and what we should look like while we’re at it. Most of what is thrown at us is preposterously unattainable. Much of it is about giving our money to companies who care very little about us but a whole lot about making money. Life is a much shorter trip than you might think. My dad says to think of it as an amusement park to which you can only ever get one ticket, and, once it’s closed, it’s closed. You have one chance to ride the rides and see the shows and taste the cotton candy and connect with the other people there.

You can waste your time being afraid—afraid you’ll look silly on the ride, worried you won’t laugh at the right parts of the show, stressed you’ll throw up from the cotton candy, scared that, if you wait in line for this ride, then the line for the other might get too long. You can live in fear, and you can miss it all. Or you can go for it. You can trust that you know best what you can do, what you want to do, and what you can handle. And you go for it. I know that I don’t want to spend my life sitting on the bench. I know because I used to do exactly that.

I used to be the coat and drinks and backpack holder. Whatever the activity, I held down the fort with everyone’s things while everyone else enjoyed the day. One afternoon, I was at Walt Disney World with my best friend and my then seven-year-old daughter, standing in line for Splash Mountain. We had just reached the “point of no return,” which is where I planned to duck out. But before I stepped out of line, I looked to my right and there it was: the mommy bench. There sat the saddest-looking mommies at Disney, covered with snotty, crying kids crawling on their pitiful-looking moms draped in already discarded souvenirs and acetate costumes. And to my left was a line full of kids and adults alike, talking and laughing and all excited to go on the ride. The life metaphor simply could not be denied.

I decided to go on that ride. And, you know what? It was really fun. And I wondered in that moment about the things I had missed and the things I would continue to miss. That initiated The Year of Yes. And that first year led to many more years, which led to learning to ski and rock-climb, rappelling down the façade of an eighteen-story hotel, feeding sharks and diving with octopi, and a list of a zillion other wild and even not-so-wild things. I gave up the bench and decided to grab hold of that one-day-only ticket and, well, live. That was the day my unicorn journey really took off in earnest.

That Unicorn knows how to live.

When it comes to living, That Unicorn acknowledges that…

Social media is bogus.

It is. All of it. No, really. Not some of it. All of it. Even the most uncurated post is still curated. The picture was taken, right? The post was written, right? And either one or both got posted, right? Those acts in and of themselves were executed, even if subconsciously. The photo was taken to post or with posting in mind. The subject, the angle, the light, all of it was curated. The words were written specifically for posting. Each word chosen for others to read and approve of and comment on.

Social media is fake. It’s not about connecting us or bringing us together. It’s not about sharing. If it were, it would look totally different. And, sure, it can connect us. But that’s not its purpose. What it really serves to do is precisely what its unfortunate roots set out to do—to judge and compare people. It started out as hot or not. Now it’s hot or not…plus wealthy or not, successful or not, married or not, traveling or not. You get the idea.

So, That Unicorn knows that social media is nothing more than a game. If you feel like playing and you can do it without getting hurt or depressed by remembering that it’s not real, no harm, no foul. But social media is not a forced march. You can choose not to use it. You can check in occasionally to see what friends and family are up to. There is not a thing in the world wrong with that. That Unicorn knows who she is and doesn’t need a post or quote or quiz to prove it.

No unicorn’s life is perfect.

It might seem like there are unicorns who have it all, especially celebrities and the super-rich. But too many of them aren’t actually unicorns. They’re more like robots, with someone else doing all their thinking while they live in a shell to keep people from getting too close to them. And their “perfect” lives are what we see on TV or in a magazine (or in their Instagram feed). We know nothing of their real lives, their real struggles. Sure, their struggles may be more glamorous than most of ours are. But very few of them have what you or I would consider a perfect life.

They can’t go anywhere without people taking their photo or asking to speak to them. They have someone controlling their every move in the name of furthering their careers. They must watch their Ps and Qs to not end up in a tabloid or get kicked out of this club or that group. They aren’t their own person. They are beholden to the money or the work. Wealth and celebrity have perks—and some pretty damn good ones for sure—but those things have their burdens as well.

Part of being a unicorn is dealing with what some might consider imperfections. Jobs and families and bodies and relationships that sometimes drive us crazy. And yet, we are who we are. We have made the lives we want to live with what we have been given. That Unicorn does her personal best, no more and no less. That’s different for every unicorn. And the end game isn’t perfection, it’s living honestly.

Perfect is never the goal.

“Perfect” according to whom? Who gets to decide? And what’s the reward for meeting that arbitrary standard? Neither answer matters, because perfect doesn’t exist. Unless you’re talking about your perfect, in which case, that qualifier is absolutely required. That Unicorn is seeking the life that’s perfect for her. She doesn’t ask anyone’s permission or need anyone’s approval when it comes to what that looks like or how she gets there.

“Perfect” often gets in the way of “pretty darn good.” It keeps us focused on what isn’t real, which forces us to miss what is. Will that more expensive car or bigger house or fancier dress make us that much happier? Maybe for a minute. But in the long run, That Unicorn is so much more about being happy than about battling windmills in the pursuit of the elusive perfect that she can’t be bothered with the little things that are mere distractions along the way.

Since there is no perfect, having that as a goal leads to failure. Unicorns are looking for their perfect. They’re looking for perfectly them. They’re seeking That Unicorn in the mirror, looking back at them with that knowing smile, telling them, “You’re doing great because you’re doing you.”

Sometimes, no matter what, everything falls apart.

This is a hard one, even for That Unicorn. Sometimes everything goes to pieces, and there’s just not much good to be found. People get sick. The house floods. Jobs are lost. Bills pile up. Kids get in trouble. Nothing is going right. It’s not good. But it is real and it does have to be wrangled and it will end.

That Unicorn doesn’t need to be told to find the silver lining. Sometimes there really isn’t one. That Unicorn doesn’t need to be told “Keep your chin up” or “At least you’re better off than some people” or “At least you have (fill-in-the-blank).” That Unicorn knows that there are times when the universe—at least hers—comes terribly unglued, and the only way out is through. And so first, unicorns allow themselves to scream and cry and kick and bemoan the unfairness of it all. And then…

Then That Unicorn says, “This has to be done. And I am the one who has to do it.” And she does it. That’s why we long to be That Unicorn so much. It’s not that unicorns are unaffected by the world; it’s that they don’t let it change their paths. It’s not that they never face a storm; it’s that they go in wearing their foul-weather gear and armed with umbrellas. It’s not that they don’t get sad or mad or disappointed; it’s that they don’t let it stop them. And don’t think you have to smile through it all, either. Sometimes unicorns grit their teeth, too.

Nobody really has it all figured out.

That’s the big secret. I hope it doesn’t scare you to hear that. What I hope instead is that it makes it all the more clear to you how within reach being a unicorn is. That Unicorn looks like she knows it all because she moves through the world without anything stopping her, not because she knows everything, but because she knows she can figure it out or find it out.

Too many people wait to do something until they are sure the conditions are ideal. Enough time together to move in, enough experience to apply for that job, enough time to take that class, enough background to ask that question. The problem is, it could feel like it’s never enough. Then, before you know it, the moment is long past.

Unicorns aren’t thoughtless. But they don’t wait indefinitely, either. They’re not entitled, but they also know their worth. They aren’t afraid to tell you that they’re ready, even though they wonder in the middle of the night if they are. Unicorns leap. They take calculated risks. They trust themselves. They are confident enough in their own unicorn-ness to know that yes is the answer even when insecurity threatens their confidence. That Unicorn takes the chance; otherwise, That Unicorn knows, she has no chance.

Wanting more is okay. So is not wanting more.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting the corner office or the biggest piece of cake. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to star in the play or be the best at cruise karaoke. There’s nothing wrong with wanting the promotion or being known as the best baker in the neighborhood. There’s nothing wrong with wanting more. It’s not un-unicorn to want more.

It’s also okay not to want more. There’s nothing in the world wrong with the path you choose. Don’t let anyone put a “just” in front of your life. “Oh, you just stay at home with the kids.” “You just do volunteer work, right?” “So, you just freelance?” Those people are speaking to their own insecurities; they define themselves by their work. That’s their stuff, not yours.

That Unicorn knows how much is enough for her: how much work, how much play, how much money. It’s not up to other people to define that for you. Anyone who tries is merely wrangling with their own demons, and no unicorn has time for that. It’s not selfish to want more, and it’s not pitiful to be happy where you are. It’s just sad that we go around judging one another on these make-believe things when there is a perfectly good gauge of unicorns and humans—kindness, especially to the smallest and most powerless among us…

Unicorns ask for help.

Asking for help is good. Accepting help is divine. There is very little in life where we don’t benefit from asking for help. I think it’s a shame that we often feel that, unless we did it all on our own, it’s not worthy of credit or celebration. When we’re growing up, we hear an awful lot of, “Good for you. You got dressed all by yourself.” “Look at you! You brushed your teeth without any help!” “What a big girl you are—you finished your homework all on your own.” It is a rite of passage to be able to do certain things for ourselves that a healthy, able-bodied child (and later a healthy, able-bodied adult) should be able to do alone. Autonomy is important.

But doing something alone is not more important than the actual doing. If you need help, ask for it. I’m tiny: I could never take luggage on a plane if I didn’t ask for help putting it in the overhead compartment. Heck, I couldn’t even grocery shop alone without some assistance—I wouldn’t be able to get any of the products on my list that reside on the highest shelves. It’s great to be able to do things for yourself, but don’t let it define you.

No unicorn would ever expect people to do things for her. Entitlement is exceptionally unbecoming of a unicorn. But asking politely is not just acceptable, it’s also part of being in community. Most people actually like to help. When we are open to asking for help, we are also providing the opportunity to help. I love to be called on for things I am able to assist with. It allows me to contribute. Asking, accepting, giving, and receiving help are all integral to being part of a community. That Unicorn never forgets that many of the most significant human accomplishments were not done alone.

A shared life is the best life.

It doesn’t matter if it’s a significant other or a best friend or a relative. Life’s moments are often better when they are shared. It is almost as if you can experience things more robustly when you experience them with someone else. You have your experience, but you also get to watch the person you are with having the experience. You get to talk about the experience, both in the moment and after, and relive it.

That’s not to say that there’s anything wrong with doing things on your own. There is a great deal to be learned when you take things on all by yourself. But with all of life’s highs and lows, sorrows and joys, excitement, and even simplicity, the act of sharing enhances. It can ease the difficult ones as well. Sometimes, it almost feels as if something isn’t real unless you have someone there to witness it with and for you.

Humans are pack animals. They are meant to live in groups. They are intended to care for one another and to be cared for. There are certainly people who thrive alone. But most of us find that sharing life and all of its ups and downs with other people is a happier, more fulfilling, and even healthier way to live. It’s okay to want to interact with people. It’s okay to want to be in the company of others and not interact. And it’s okay to spend time recharging solo. That Unicorn knows what she needs and when she needs it, and she shares herself, her life, and her time accordingly.

There’s no do-over.

Since I was a little girl, my dad has consistently reminded me that “life is not a dress rehearsal.” You only get to do this life-thing once, at least as far as any of us know. Too many of us treat our lives as if we will have another opportunity to do and see and experience the things that we encounter. But this is it, the big show. We don’t get a second chance to say yes instead of no, sit in the front of the roller coaster instead of the back, or say hello instead of sitting alone at that table. That Unicorn knows to open the door—or at least look through the peephole—when opportunity comes knocking.

Change can be frightening and challenging. But that is only because it represents the new and unknown. Sure, you’re comfortable with where you are and who you’re with and what you’re doing. And unicorns do love to be comfy. But That Unicorn also knows that she only gets one shot at being her sparkly best, and she owes it to herself, not to say the universe, to take a chance and make things happen and live…really live. The sidelines are safe. But you may never get the same opportunity to take the stage or hit the field or test the waters again. That Unicorn was made to shine.

Life is about singularities. It’s made up of a zillion little moments that come and go. When we miss those moments, they are gone forever. So, unless you’re going to die or lose your life savings or put others’ lives or well-being at risk, climb it, sail it, eat it, sing it, see it, try it, do it. You will likely never be in that moment again. And most of us will have far greater regret about the things we didn’t do than about the things we did.

Regret serves no one.

Regret is an easy trap to fall into. You don’t seize the opportunity presented, and you carry that regret like a millstone around your neck. It weighs you down and follows you around. Ultimately, regret keeps you from seizing the next opportunity, and the next, until you find yourself filled with more regret than satisfaction when it comes to your life and your choices about that life. That’s the kind of self-defeating mayhem for which That Unicorn has no time or energy.

Sometimes we do things we’re not entirely proud of or thrilled about. We drink a little too much at the party, we say something that hurts someone’s feelings, or we don’t go on the trip or take the job. It’s okay to be disappointed in a choice…for a moment. It’s not okay to let that choice ruin you. It doesn’t make any sense. Why have one regret compound itself into a zillion more?

That Unicorn is all about living and learning. Don’t let one misstep keep you from saying yes to the next opportunity. Instead of regretting a slip, learn from it. Use that mistake to inform how you will act when the next event or trip or job presents itself. You cannot change the past nor predict the future. You can, however, be present in the now and seize every moment that each day gives you. That Unicorn lives with eyes and arms and heart wide open and ready to receive the gifts that—trust me—the universe is designed to offer you. Yesterday is in the books. But today is all yours.