Back in my college days I found myself enrolled in a particularly tricky accounting class. The professor exemplified arrogance and I knew from Day 1 that I'd have to work my ass off to prove my worth. Midterms rolled around and I studied like I'd never studied before. I took the exam and, for once, I actually felt good about how I did. Then came the fateful day when we received our scores. The professor walked into class and pulled four boxes of cake mix from his bag. He said our class had set a record with four people scoring 'A's on the midterm (that's how hard the class was- 70 kids, only 4 'A's) so, to celebrate, he brought those students cake (some assembly required).
He called off the names one at a time and presented each student with their "cake".
The first name wasn't mine.
Nor was the second.
Or the third.
I held my breath and crossed my fingers as I heard him announce the final name. It was not mine.
Fuck. I worked so hard, but no cake for me.
Then the professor announced that he had one final student that he didn't want to leave out. One student came soooo close, scoring an 89%, but just needed a little more muscle to make it to the elite. He walked up the steps and down the aisle until he was standing directly in front of me. He placed a can of Popeye's brand spinach on the desk before me and said, "Good work, Ms. Pirrone. Just needed a little more muscle. You'll get 'em next time."
I still have that can of spinach. I used to keep it on my desk in front of me as a reminder to always work a little harder, push a little farther, gain a little more muscle. But that was a long time ago.
I'll always keep that can of spinach but it's no longer on my desk. It's tucked away in a cabinet along with other happy reminders of the past. It's a happy memory, and a fun story, but I will never again give that can any more regard than I do any other forget-me-not's. I spent years telling myself that I wasn't quite good enough. That I had to work harder or do more in order to be 'elite'. That can served as the physical proof. But I was wrong and I won't have a tin can tell me otherwise.
Now, there are plenty of things that I'm no good at. For example, cars. I know nothing about cars. I know the hole where gasoline goes and the hole where oil goes, and I can change a tire, but that's about it. My brother works in the auto industry so when I have questions, he's the one I go to. He always gives me one of those "Bless her heart" looks when I ask what are, apparently, stupid questions. Also, I don't get football. At all. Dad loves talking about football so I pretend to know a thing or two. But I don't. Not at all. He might as well be speaking in Aramaic. I know a tiny bit of Spanish, and even less French, but not enough to score an 89% on an exam. And I'm okay with that. None of those things make me 'less than'. None exclude me from being 'elite'.
That 89% was probably one of the best things that could happen to me. It forced me, over time, to become okay with my shortcomings and instead take pride in what I AM good at. I know how to find the exact center of a circle using just a compass (the math type, not the boy scout type) and a ruler. I know Roman numerals. I've watched enough medical shows that I think I could place a chest tube or decompress a lung, should the need ever arise. I know why they call a dollar bill a buck, where the phrase "to pay through the nose" comes from, and why the Statue of Liberty is green. I'm pretty awesome.
Each of us has at least one special talent. Some of us are scholars of literature. Some can write computer code. And some can name all of the Kardashians, which I'm sure is a skill to someone somewhere. We all have talents, but for some reason we all choose to judge ourselves by what we can't do as opposed to what we can. It's a universal condition. Don't feel bad about it, but do acknowledge it. You can't solve a problem until you know there is a problem. Look inside yourself every day and remind yourself of all the things you excel at and forget about the rest. The day I took that can of spinach off my desk was the day I decided to focus my energy on my talents. Then and only then was I able to acknowledge that I am already elite.
One final note. I ended up earning an 'A' as my final grade in that accounting class. When I received my grade card I immediately emailed my professor. "Dear Professor: I earned an 'A'. Where's my cake?" His response, "Dear Ms. Pirrone: I inspired you to earn that 'A' so I kept the cake for myself." If I saw him today I'd tell him I earned that 'A' because I'm already elite, no spinach required.
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