Special

When we are little, people tell us all the time that we are special and different and that we can do anything and be anything. And as we grow up, these things are instilled in us repeatedly, with love and lessons and learning. And we are special. And we try. And we move forward, reaching toward our sometimes limitless dreams. We graduate high school and go to college and decide what we want to be when we grow up and graduate college. And then your real life can finally begin.

But there are bills and parking tickets and no jobs to be found anywhere close to your major. Forget health insurance and vegetables and gym memberships.

And sometimes along the way, after a few misguided mishaps, after sending out a billion resumes to no avail and interviewing for hundreds of people that never call, it all gets a little overwhelming.

At the risk of sounding melodramatic (and I'm not trying to be for once), I'm going to say it: I don't remember why I'm special anymore.

Dear 77th job I've applied to this month, I'm not actually sure why you should hire me. Love, Ashley

How am I different from the other 300 or so dime a dozen English majors that want to write for your magazine? How am I different from that other brunette with the cute shoes at the end of the bar in whatever bar I've ducked into while traipsing aroud Wrigleyville? What is it about me that makes me sparkle? And I find that I'm in this weird place where I just can't remember anymore.

And it's not that I'm depressed. I'm rather enjoying my life, my friends, my new apartment. I have great shoes, great dresses, great books. A fiery passion I rediscovered for certain kinds of literature after a happenstance discussion that probably mattered little to the other half of it. But there is statis. I'm miserable at Sweet and Sassy right now. If another person screams at me because I can't book their birthday party for tomorrow or corners me because their child has lice, I'm going to explode. I want to write. I want to plan. I want a challenge.

If I could find a challenge to overcome, perhaps it would ignite some spark. Some inkling of something special, some key to the hundred or so dreams I have floating around in my head and which ones I should actually be focusing on.

Because I know, even if I can't remember why or put my finger on what it is that's different yet, I am special and I'm going to be great. At something. (Other than changing diapers and giving glitter stars). Yes. Yes I am.