A friend once said to me, “Imagine who you could’ve been, what you could have done, if you hadn’t had such a tricky start in life.”
I know she meant well, but this question evoked in me an instant wave of shame – that I wasn’t more, that I couldn’t have prevented those things happening, that I couldn’t overcome them, that whatever I did would never be as good as what I could’ve done if those things had not happened and handicapped me before my prime.
It fed in to all the wounds already taken on board and internalised that told me I was not good enough. That I should try harder, and even worse, declared that even if I did try, I was doomed to failure in comparison with that illusory ideal of what I might have been. It formed built-in regret, built-in resentment, built-in shame, a built-in sense of lesser than thou. In essence, I was, and always would be, a loser.
But what if she was wrong?
What if without these wounds I would not have become half the person I am now? What if it is the overcoming of or the blending with these scars that makes me? What if living well has nothing to do with the hand that we are dealt, because, contrary to what we are taught, this life is not all about competition, this life is not a game of poker where the winner takes all.
What if we are meant to take these cards, look at them with tenderness and love and see the beauty of this unique hand we have before us. What if then we lay them out in the most beautiful pattern we can discover, trying this one next to that one, that one alongside this one, adjusting each day to our own internal sense of order and beauty and worth.
And what if they become the most beautiful when we combine them next to the hands of others? What if each display their unique design and when we stand back, we realise that we are all connected in the most intricate exquisite pattern of a never ending deck of cards of endless variation. Connecting and flowing and merging and separating, the most glorious riot of colour and meaning and joy, fading in and out as new lives emerge and old ones pass away. And yet, the joy and meaning of connection is always there, supporting us each with each other and on, down through the generations.
I say to my friend… I say to myself, “Look how beautiful this life is! Even with all its pain and struggle and confusion. Here is where the beauty is made, is crafted, is tempered and salted with creativity and connection and love and laughter. It’s not the hand you’re dealt, it’s what you do with it and with each other that matters.”