I’ve realised over the past few months that I’ve got myself into a bit of a bind. With a steady stream of ‘”go large or go home” success stories coming at me via my Facebook feed, I’ve fallen into the trap of forgetting how important small is.
I’ve decided to be small.
Small is manageable, small is considered, small is carefully curated. Small means you start things.
I appreciate that some people are very good at being big, but I find big quite overwhelming. I think that (and this is rather silly, but nonetheless true) because I’m a big person with a big personality, perhaps I thought that I had to have a big life too. But living big is not the same thing as being big.
I see living big as requiring a certain ambition and recognition of achievement that I just don’t think is for me after all. All my life I craved praise from others and it has only been recently that I’ve begun to realise that it’s not recognition that motivates me, it’s helping others. That perhaps I am not a striver, but a seeker.
I don’t need to be first. I don’t need to be the best. I don’t even need to be in the running.
A small life, with time for others and time for me. It feels like a small life might be a life that cuts through the noise and simply chooses what is truly important. Achievable and satisfying, and doesn’t that sound lovely?
Every now and then I write something that compels someone to write me back to thank me for making a difference in her life. I write back immediately to say, “You’re my person today. You’re the reason I wrote what I wrote.”