Awesomeness

Like the sun behind the clouds

Hello, friends,

One of the first times I flew, it was raining. As the plane rose in the sky, eventually we rose above the clouds and the sun appeared. This was a profound moment for me—the recognition that no matter what I might be experiencing on the ground, the sun is always shining.

I’ve heard a similar metaphor used in Buddhist philosophy to refer to our mind vs our thoughts—our mind is like the sky, always clear; our thoughts are the clouds, continually passing by but not materially affecting the sky.

And now I’ve found another application for this concept:

Among my personal beliefs is the idea that we are all awesome. Each and every one of us. That doesn’t mean we all like each other. Obviously, this isn’t the case. But I prefer to think that the reason for our relational difficulties isn’t that some of us are “bad” people or even difficult or problematic people, but that each of us can only see certain other people’s awesomeness. Maybe the people whose awesomeness we can see are kindred spirits or exist on a similar energy wavelength or simply share enough in common. For whatever reason, we jibe.

With those who don’t strike us as particularly awesome, it doesn’t mean someone else doesn’t think they are. They’re just not for us. It’s like books. There’s a young adult novel called To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before that was published in 2014 and became wildly popular—it became a major bestseller and was adapted (along with the other 2 books in the series) into 3 movies, the first of which is one of Netflix’s most-watched original films. That said, I hated the book. It didn’t deliver on the “promise of the premise,” and the ending pissed me off. I couldn’t see its awesomeness, but millions of other people did.

I experience something similar with my own books (albeit on a much smaller scale 😊). Though some authors avoid them, I read my reviews. Most are positive, but every now and then, I get one like this: “Ugh its a theater book and very little bon jovi sprinkled in. I usually like YA, this was unbearable.” Clearly, this reader did not see the awesomeness of I’ll Be There for You. But the reader who wrote “This book is Y.A. realistic fiction at its very best” clearly did. Neither reader is “right” or “wrong.” My book is what it is, and it will appeal to some people and not to others.

So, I think it’s okay we can’t see everyone’s awesomeness. Instead of worrying too much about the not-so-awesome people I cross paths with, I try to surround myself with people who can see my awesomeness and whose awesomeness I see. And when I do have to interact with some not-so-awesome folks, I find it helpful to remind myself that they’re awesome to someone. Someone thinks they’re funny, or goes to them for advice, or looks forward to spending time with them. Keeping this in mind helps me let go of my frustrations and negative feelings toward them. It bring me back to a place of compassion.

We’re all human beings, with qualities some people find endearing and others find off-putting. We’re all a ray of sunshine; some people just have clouds blocking out our light. We’re all awesome—to the people who can see it.

Warmly,

Brie

P.S. Do you have a tribe of people whose awesomeness you see and celebrate?