Ode to Mediocrity

I can't try to look good anymore.

I can't worry about the mistakes I just made: the words that wouldn't come, the notes I couldn't quite hit, the pimple on my forehead.

I can't take care of your impression of me. I'm not dazzling anymore and I don't want to try to be.

I'm not making efforts to wow anyone.

I'm plain.

Angular, too angular perhaps.

And soft in spots, too soft for some things.

It's ok now.

It's fine if I'm not noticed, not appreciated, not picked out of the crowd.

Give those goodies to someone who needs them still.

I've completed my tenure of trying, vying and lying.

I don't have it in me to misrepresent myself any longer.

I give myself permission to be mediocre.

There is luxury in it.

Still full of heart. Inspired. Obsessed even.

But not a performer.

I'm a space where life shows up, a little different every day.

There's rest in my presence now, at long last.

Delight at the end of the exhale.

Pleasure in the quiet between words.

Absolute participation in the love that holds the universe together.

I'm not trying anymore.

And I'm more than I have ever been.