What It's Like

my experience Jun 09, 2021

I get this question a lot, so I thought I'd address it and use it sort of like a FAQ.

A copy and paste.

There are certain things like that in life, and for me - for my energy - this feels like one of them.

"What's it like having a dad who's a rockstar?" They ask.

Or worse: "what's it like having a dad who's rich and famous?"

Would you mind letting that question resound in your own head or out loud before asking it?

You may find there may be a more tactful way to phrase it.

"What's it like?" A valid question, and you have to understand how much I get it.

You have to understand how oftentimes, I feel like I live in a shadow. Like I am being looked right through. Like they're standing on their tip-toes trying to peer over me. Like anyone would use every last ounce of me if they could.

Sometimes I feel invisible, even though so many people are looking.

It's the constant duality of wanting to be seen for me and also wanting everyone to turn away.

To give me space to breathe.

To alleviate the anxiety I have over nothing and no one, but everything and everyone all at once.

Does that make sense?

It's hard for me to feel safe.

This is the shadow of the experience I was given in this life.

"What a privilege. How could you complain?" They say.

"It is a privilege." I respond to the voice in my mind.

It's just another rehearsed stand off with what I think they'll say; what I think they think.

I plaster that smile across my face. You know the one. The one that has given me a signature of my own. That smile. That warm, beautiful, radiant smile!

You know the one.

That smile that has been rehearsed for so many years it truly feels like my own.

The one that tells you, "I am nice! I am kind! I am warm and humble! I promise! I am!"

The one that leaves my cheeks aching and my energy drained when I'm behind closed doors.

The one that inspired a psychic on my 21st birthday to tell me that I have been looking at myself through a million different mirrors and eyes, unsure of which ones were my own.

The one that follows suit with a strained, nervous laugh that sounds oh-so-real.

The same one my brother has.

And my other brother.

And my sister.

The one that reminds us we aren't supposed to feel down, act off, or have bad days.

The one that's cued by the echoes of sneers of childhood peers who said, "why are you crying? Your dad's a rockstar."

Our dad's a rockstar.

He has money.

We have privilege.

So we smile.

So I smile.

So I smile.

So I smile.

So I smile.

So I smile.

My life is beautiful. You can see it. I don't need to tell you what you already know and assume.

And it's not all you see.

I am lucky.

I am privileged.

I am joyful.

And I feel.

I am human.

I am.

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