I Do It All

Knowing you can be anyone is its own kind of motion sickness. All that power, aimed at nothing. Round and round, like a Ferris wheel after dark.

You don't get off. Getting off means choosing. Whether it's even time. What if the next ride is less fun. Voices — inside and out — keep you on the ordinary ride. Spinning. Assuring you this one is still good. And part of you agrees. It is.

There is another voice in you. It wants to try the greatest ride in the park.

But the line is short. It looks like there's a height and weight requirement. Word has gotten out about how scary it is. It seems like it would cost more than it gives.

Except you're tired of spinning. Wondering what the ride feels like is heavier than going on it.

So what are you going to do?

You stop being the indecisive one. You decide you are fearless. I can ride that ride.

And what does the decisive one do?

You tell the park who you are and get off the Ferris wheel. I'm the one who goes on the world's greatest ride.

The people still spinning will find that rude. They might mock you. They might throw a tomato or two. But you know they aren't seeing clearly. You had the power to make that decision. So do they. They will just keep letting the park tell them what's true.

They're seeing through the left eye — letting the park name them, listening to the wrong voices. They never decide who they are. They're afraid of choosing something new. They want to watch someone else go first. They have only ever heard the stories, and believe them.

The right eye sees the ride that lights her up and says that one. She decides she's the person who goes, the fearless rider. She doesn't need the park to watch her, or tell her she can. She just does. She's listening to the voice that sees who she is, and what she's capable of, clearly.

Listen to that voice. Choose the eye that makes you fall in love with looking — at the world, and at yourself.

Don't be the eye asking to be history's greatest. Be the one who decided she already was, and moved accordingly. Deciding is the power. The rest is walking up to the ride, paying your five cents, buckling in, and looking at the conductor.

Mouthing: Go.

Run a mile under four. Plant a flag on the moon. Do things like that because that's who you are — not because anyone's watching. They'll call it a deepfake anyway.

If you knew they wanted to watch the fearless rider fly — would you go on the ride that lights you up?

Are you going to see what you can do?