In a world of horses, I am a zebra. At first, my stripes represented my inability to fit in with the herd, but somewhere down the line they became my superpower. I found my way off the racetrack and onto the unbeaten rocky path that has led me to my identity. I am an artist.
Many times I have tried to run the racetrack but it always led to the same conclusion: I felt like Pocahontas in her canoe singing "is all my dreaming at an end" or Simba looking up at his father in the sky telling him to "remember who you are." (Disney-you get me.) Besides, I wasn't bred to run to the finish line of fame and fortune. I was bred to use scissors all day, have constantly dyed hands, and have paint splatters on all my clothes. You can't run from fate. (And neither can your clothes.)
There isn't a day that goes by that I don't have scissors in my hands and I wouldn't want it any other way. Sometimes my husband comes home to a textile sweatshop. Sometimes he walks into a paper making factory. And sometimes if he's lucky, he comes home to a clean house-but he never holds his breathe. Luckily, I married the most loving and supportive husband in the world. So whatever the barricades strewn across the floor, his is proud of my stripes and constantly encouraging me to dream bigger.
So here's to having dreams. Here's to never fitting in, always standing out and living in Technicolor. Welcome to the view from my rose colored glasses. Except that I think mine are ombre blue.
