Life is never a one-size-fits-all formula. If you want to develop and give your gifts (after all, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it?), you must honor who you are and celebrate your own voice. That means embracing the paradox that while it’s important to value the mentors and role models who guide us, we must also honor our own style.
Depending solely on others is like taking a long walk in borrowed shoes. If you’ve ever hiked around in new shoes that don’t fit quite right, you know what I mean. If the shoes are even a bit too big or too small, they can be very uncomfortable. If you walk long enough under those conditions, you’ll get blisters. Eventually the pain becomes so bad that you can’t go on. That’s what happens to you when you force yourself into a mold that isn’t your own. The remedy: walk at your own pace and in your own shoes.
Admittedly, I’ve been somewhat recalcitrant on this point, and therefore life has generously given me many lessons to teach me to trust myself and to be myself. One dramatic lesson came in an equally dramatic landscape. I was hiking in the beautiful Teton Range near Jackson Hole, Wyoming, with two friends. They are both are taller than I, and they walked briskly, covering more ground more quickly than I could. At the time, I didn’t think about the fact that nature had endowed both of these women with long, strapping legs that could scramble up the steep path like mountain goats. Instead, I blamed myself for not being able to match their pace.
Is something wrong with me? I thought to myself. I must really be out of shape. If I just push a little harder, I can keep up. So that’s what I did. I pushed, and then pushed some more. My strategy worked, but halfway through the hike, the consequences set in. I pulled a muscle in my hip without realizing it. The ache I felt at the time was tolerable until we started the long descent down the mountain. At that point, every single step I took was painful. It hurt so much that I couldn’t even tolerate the weight of my small backpack, which my friends had to carry for me. The long ride home was a painful blur.
There I was in one of the most stunningly beautiful vistas you’ll ever see. But I don’t remember much about the sights, smells, or sounds of that day. I don’t remember much of anything except the pain. I forfeited my ability to enjoy the trek by struggling to keep up with someone else.
