It’s awards season again.
The celebration of all the things
They’ve decided matter.
The sports and grades and
contests and acceptance letters.
The scholarships and all those
numbers that are supposed to
tell you your worth.
Good for them – the ones who are called to stand up front, to shake hands, to get the papers.
Truly. They worked hard and deserve to be honored.
They shine in a system built for them.
A system that clearly wasn’t built for you.
It doesn’t know how to measure you.
So you won’t be called.
I don’t know your story.
I won’t presume to guess
what stood in your way.
But listen to me:
Are your beautiful pink lungs still filling,
drawing in fresh air?
Does your heart thump away in its
glorious, unstoppable rhythm?
Does your body rise every day and
walk out into the world
where maybe, just maybe,
you will find what you need today?
Is there laughter left within you?
Can you smell the spring lilacs?
Feel the new sun on your skin?
Survival doesn’t come with an award letter.
But it should.
And written large across it should be one word:
POSSIBILITY.
It means you still have a chance to
write your own rules,
define your own standard of measure.
Congratulations – you are still here!
I have no idea what you went through to stay,
but I’m glad you did.
Renee Writes 