That Thing

That Thing

You know that thing that you do when there’s no one around?

That thing that you do when no one asked you to be proud?

That thing you know you love to do, but aren’t sure has a place in the world?

That unproductive, but totally worthwhile thing that no one does quite like you?

That thing!

Someone tapped you on the shoulder while you were at it again.

You didn’t even notice them.

They were friendly even though you weren’t friends.

You hardly even knew them.

But they liked the thing.

Your thing!

They liked it, and they tapped your shoulder and asked you to do it again.

You thought about it.

You had always thought about it really, but this is the first time you really thought about it.

You had heard of people doing your thing for a living.

It had been a dream, but never a goal.

Dreams are for children, there things adults let go.

Goals are realistic.

Attainable.

What does this stranger know about your thing?

How can they possibly appreciate it?

It’s yours!

Only YOU have ever appreciated it.

Now they ask again in that friendly way.

Would you do the thing?

Let them down.

The thing about your thing is that it has never let you down.

But what about everyone else?

Wouldn’t they be disappointed that your thing wasn’t something else?

That’s seems to be the way of the world.

Blue isn’t red and purple is hardly a compromise that satisfies both sides.

So why should your thing satisfy?

And yet when you do your thing you are satisfied.

So you do your thing for the stranger.

And what do you find?

Strangers are kind.

And cruel.

All shapes and size.

Your mind is full of the fear that they might...

Have expected more from you and the things that your write.

So you set down your pen and pretend make polite.

I can’t do the thing today.

Maybe later tonight.