I am beginning to come to grips with the fact that I’m not a genius. For a long time there I thought I was on the cusp of that ever elusive moniker. I’m resolved now to the realization that I’m normal and the people around me have known it for some time now. It’s okay to be normal. Looking back now, I don’t see what the fuss is all about for being extraordinary. Sure, I’d love the attention. Sure, it’s nice to be received into crowded halls full of eager listeners waiting with bated breath for each phrase I turn. Sure, the ego of a genius would be formidable. Sure, I’d need to get used to nicknames like ‘captain big brain’ or ‘Son of Einstein’ or the less creative and down-right lazy ‘Smarty Pants’. Sure, I’d have to behave as though I was normal; walk among the people as though I was one of them all while building a healthy disdain for their mundane. Sure I’d get tired of the same questions in every interview; “Yes the Earth is round.” “No, the introduction of time travel does not affect my position on the Star Trek reboot.” “I don’t care that you didn’t like the end of The Village.” Sure, I’d pull farther and farther away from society. Sure, my fame would diminish and my name would simply be held in high regard as a memory. Sure, I’d eventually sit in my ivory tower overlooking the populous and wax poetic about how this must be how God feels. Sure my end would be quiet with no one else around; simple, silent, peaceful. Sure, I “could” be a genius, but I like my family too much.
… But… on some days, if you tilt your head in just the right direction and you squint your eyes at just the right level, you’ll crack a smile when you see it; my genius trying to peek through.
Have a Happy Week Readers!