Being Ourselves

Last year, at my high school reunion, two classmates approached me separately to share a memory they had of something I did that impressed them in our senior year of school.

“Are you still running?”, the first classmate asked. We were both on the cross country and track teams together.

I said that I was.

“I recently told my wife about you, about how fast you were able to run.”

“Wow!”, I exclaimed. Thanks for remembering that. “Yes, I still do run. Over the past few years, I’ve actually gotten several medals and prizes for finishing in the top three places. I guess if you keep running long enough, it’s easier to be in the top three, since not as many guys are still running and competing so much at our age!” We laughed about that reality.

The second guy pulled me aside a few minutes later. 

“One of my strongest memories of you is what you did in our senior class play.”

“Up the Down Staircase!. Yes, I certainly remember the play. What was it that I did?“ He was an actor in the play, too. 

“It was that you were fearless, very confident. You added actions to your part in the performance that you hadn’t done in rehearsals. In front of a live audience you really came to life! You really made an impression.”

“After all these years you remembered that? That’s really nice.”

I thanked them both for their affirmations. What they each said touched me in ways they - or virtually no one - could possibly know.

You see, I struggled growing up, with two big challenges. I am a naturally- born introvert and I was (and still continue to be wherever I am) the smallest boy in our class. I had to work hard, especially emotionally, to overcome those two culturally-perceived disadvantages. 

Because of my size, from early on, even before starting first grade, I felt inferior because of my shyness and of my size. In a culture in which extroverts are estimated to be more that 50% and as much as 75% of the U. S. population and where tallness is so often connected with intelligence, strength, and confidence, I have often felt underestimated and overlooked. My naturally quieter nature made me work harder to be noticed and well-regarded. My smaller stature made me believe that I wasn’t very athletically-gifted or strong. 

But when I was 14, a sophomore in high school, I felt it most acutely. I wondered if I could be better at sports - and maybe more popular.

One of my very best friends joined the cross country team. So, I thought I’d try that.  At the time, cross country and long distance running wasn’t as popular as it is now. It certainly wasn’t a premier sport in our school. The team was small. But with a close friend on the team, I thought I’d give it a try, even though I’d never run competitively before. 

To my surprise, I held my own that season and felt more self-esteem about my athletic ability. I wasn’t a bad runner. So, I also joined the track team the following spring.

The next season, my friend didn’t join the cross country team, to my disappointment, because he realized that long distance running wasn’t his sport. But I joined it again, now having enough courage to do it without him. At the end of the season, I had done well enough to letter in the sport and to  be awarded the “Most Improved Runner” trophy for that year. I also lettered in track the following spring. 

As a 16-year old senior the next fall, I was the number one runner on the team, something I never dreamed I could be. I set a new record for our school’s cross country course (which still stands today, because that specific course was retired after I graduated). I was the first member of the school ever to win a medal in the all-county meet at the end of the season. I lettered again in cross country that year, as well as in track. I finally accepted the fact that I did have some natural athletic ability. 

I had found something to be especially proud of. My self-esteem rose. My small stature became much less of a hindrance to my self confidence. I was becoming someone whom I never thought I could be.

I think that’s what also propelled me to act so confidently and able to spontaneously improvise (even though it was not in the script) in our senior class play. I actually found the “stage” to be a place where I felt emboldened and at home at a very young age. It started as a child, in Sunday School, when I had special speaking parts in each year’’s children’s Christmas programs. After whatever recitation I had memorized each year, I was encouraged by my Sunday School teachers to bow when I was finished. The laughter I received after I gave my lines delighted me. I loved it! It wasn’t so easy to get up on the stage simply as Michael. But doing it from behind a character or as part of a larger production was easier. It was definitely emboldening. I went on to be cast in school plays and the musical, Annie Get Your Gun. Over the years I was in the casts of several amateur community and regional theater productions. So much of my career was spent speaking regularly to audiences. I felt at home on the “stage” wherever or whatever that stage might be. 

Quietly, I always felt that if I could have any other career than what I have done in service to others, it would have been as an actor. To touch and open people’s hearts. To inspire them to expand their thinking. To be moved to act more kindly, more respectfully, and more compassionately. 

I never believed that I’d have the privilege of acting with a professional theater company of any sort. But when earlier this year I was cast in the original play, I”m Proud of You, in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, with Open Stage theater, portraying the U. S. children’s TV icon Fred Rogers, I was thrilled. 

That experience was the biggest and the most unique, on-brand project on which Someone To Tell It To collaborated, since our inception. 

In that way, too, I became someone and something I never realistically dreamed I could be. And it was in a role that I felt I was truly being my most authentic and genuine self. It was a tremendous gift to portray MIster Rogers, forever enhancing my life and career. I am deeply grateful for being able to be part of such a very special public event that reached more than 1,000 people. His story of kindness, emotional generosity, and vulnerability is one that the world needs so desperately to hear and feel right now. 

All of us deserve to become our most genuine and best selves. All of us need to be encouraged to be who we are meant to be. All of us want to live a life that is abundant with joy, goodness, and love. To live a life that truly matters.

But all of us also experience times when we feel as if we are not enough, when we believe the worst about ourselves, when we are not living our best life. All of us can be insecure, fearful, and discouraged. All of us will doubt, give up at times, and make choices that do not serve us well. 

Despite all of that, we can still seek to live an authentic and good life. We all deserve to have stories to tell of when we won or when a dream came true. We all deserve to be told that something we did impressed others around us, that they will never forget the good and impressive things that we did. We all deserve to be ourselves and to find joy in doing it.

After all, life is full of hardships and challenges. And after all of that, there can still be moments that are so pure and good that we’ll remember and feel proud of ourselves for being the best possible person we could be.

Photo by Moritz Karst on Unsplash