Super in Secret No Longer

Y’all, there comes a moment when you truly realize your purpose in life. The hour your super powers are made known and your secret identity can remain secret no longer. The world will know. That moment came for me yesterday at Chick-fil-e.

The double line at the drive thru looked like a mass migration of soccer moms. We all idled sleepily yet expectantly under the shade of the awning some comfort engineer had the good sense to design and apparently no other fast food place can afford. All was right with the world.

The “apostle,” that’s what I call the folks that work at Chick-fil-e, stepped to my window and took my order personally. That’s how important I am at Chick-fil-e, yeah verily how important we all are! An actual human with a face attends to our deep fried needs. 

Just before the apostle asked if that completed my order and just after I said, “oooh, y’all got cobb salad now?” there was a disturbance in the Force. A dark creature from the bowels of some un-mowed section of the golf course lurched forth and skittered beside my chick-apostle’s feet. He screamed, “what was that!” flapping the holy and perfectly laminated menu in self defense.

Several other apostles came running armed with Southern decency and sporks to take on the hell hound. They huddled closely to one another taking in the scene, hands over their mouths and unpimpled chins. One slowly kneeled, looked under my vehicle and said gravely, “y’all, that is a possum.” Upon standing, she straightened her red shirt, composed herself then looked at me. “Ma’am, it’s under your tire.”

Chaos blew in on a hot, waffle fry scented wind. The apostles all looked at one other, eyes wide, mouths speechless. Never had they faced such a trial. 

That’s when I knew. I felt my purpose. “I got this, y’all. Stand back,” I said and emerged from my mom van. Softly and deliberately I walked to the back of the vehicle armed only with a beach towel and desire for a bowl of soup and three #1s with a lemonade – no ice. Would I like to make those #1s a large? Why, yes. Yes, I would.

I lowered myself to the clean pavement. Sure enough, the creature crouched at the ready beside my back tire. Our eyes met, each sizing up the other, taking in the scene and knowing that after this moment, nothing would ever be the same.

“You gotta go, possum,” I said. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.” After a gentle nudge from my beach towel, the critter relocated his troop to another tire. “Look, here,” I said, “You got to ‘git’. This is my purpose in life, you can’t win this. Plus, look!” I waved my hand at the fleet of SUVs at my back. “Look at all these women in line freaking out. They’re all about to break their Botox! Half of them have already lost a quarter of their eye lash weaves out of sheer panic. You have to go. For real. I will tell all who ask that you fought bravely.”

The beast wiggled it leathery nose. And, as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. I brushed off my knees, stood, then, after a bow to the crowd, got back in my vehicle. With a nod to the apostles I said, “that completes my order,” then eased up toward the window.

Folks, I am the “Possum-nator.”  

Highly Unnatural at Stuff

In an effort to stay on top of different fighting styles and

This is how aikido should look. It is
NOT how I look. 

because I don’t know when to just stop and be still, I started both aikido and iaido. I am a white belt all over again. And I have to say, it’s a shame there’s not a more novice color. I’m not completely lost in aikido. I know how to fall, flip and roll. I certainly know how to drop and tap the mat in submission! But, the beautiful flow of it? No, I’m not getting that. I’m as graceful as a silverback.

Now, imagine giving a silverback gorilla a wooden training sword. Yeah, that’s me in iaido. I’m terrible at it. We did three katas today. A “kata” is like a dance routine for fighting. I did each at least 15 times and didn’t get any right even once. And I have no idea what any of the katas are called. It’s all in Japanese. Plus I have a partner that speaks to me in Portuguese – that’s on me though. I requested she not speak English. I want to learn Portuguese. Maybe an environment where I’m completely lost as it is isn’t the best classroom for it.

Any who, long story short, I cried all the way home from iaido today. Y’all, I’m a 45 year old woman and I ugly cried on the toll way because I am bad with a bokken! That’s one Japanese word I know. It means “wooden sword.” I also know the word for stop. “Yamee.” I hear that a lot. I won’t lie.

This is a bokken just like the one I use
in class - which is actually the sensei's
bokken. He lets me use it because,
bless him, he wants me to do well.

Truth is, I wasn’t crying about iaido and the fact that I held my sword edge up TWICE!!!!! (Ok, three times. Oh, the embarrassment.) I cried because I end up crying over every fighting style/martial art I have ever done. None of it comes easy to me. I have never once been accused of being a “natural” at any of it. If anything, I am an “unnatural” at all of it. I have to do something at least a hundred times, not exaggerating, before I understand it. Not to get it right, just to understand it. Getting it right takes much longer. Truly there is a special place in heaven for anyone who has had to coach me.

So what’s the point here? Well, I'm writing all this because it’s ok to be “unnatural” at stuff. It’s ok to be the one who has to run harder to keep up with the back of the pack (me). It’s ok to be the one asking the question everyone else seems to know the answer to (me). It’s ok to be the last one out of a white belt (me) and the first one passed over for advancement (me). It’s ok to be lost, to tap out, to cry on the drive home with folks passing you and honking because your eyes are too squinted to drive the full 75mph (me again x3). Because in every one of those instances, you’re still in it. You’re still giving something. Being good at nothing is ok. Doing nothing isn’t. 

 So, all ye who aren’t naturally great at stuff, all you “unnaturals,” consider me your kin. Let us fly our flags proudly…backwards. We aren’t winning at everything. But, dang it, we ain’t giving up, we aren’t being beaten or dissuaded from what it is we want to do. We don’t do something because it’s easy or we’ll get a trophy in the end. We do what we do because we want to do it. Our victories will and do come in time and man, we do appreciate them. We are humbled by them because we worked our tails off for them. We don’t grab a pot and bang it with a wooden spoon announcing our success. We did things for our own satisfaction. Otherwise, we would have quit long ago.

Have the strength to be bad at something. I mean, really, really bad. Be awful. Fail lots. Fall lots. And keep fighting. Turn that bokken over, edge down, then just get back to swinging that thing. It’s worth it. You’re worth it.  You are not the sum total of your failures. Nor are you the sum of your successes. You are just you. And that’s enough. You ain’t got to be the best. All you got to do is just be you. If you are a natural at anything, it’s just being yourself.