There’s something about me that’s
different from other folks and it’s not by choice. In fact, I wish I wasn’t this
way but I am, so have to live with it. You can’t see it and probably would
never know unless I told you, but it affects me every day. Sometimes it has the
potential to place me at risk – especially when I’m alone. In other instances
it can be a benefit. From a certain point of view, I suppose it could be viewed
as a disability but I tend to reserve that term for folks who have more
life-impacting challenges. I consider my affliction an annoying inconvenience
than anything, although it might be more of an issue for some.
Not long ago, I placed my condition
front and center when I got the opportunity to speak with a group of youth as
part of a leadership development program. My talk centered on issues of being
different, which I believe can sometimes erode a person’s self-esteem and, in
turn, their confidence. The goal was to help students appreciate the idea that
everyone has something different about them; you might not see it or ever know
it, but it exists in every person. It’s a straightforward lesson but one many can
forget when measuring themselves against others.
As part of the presentation, I
conducted a sharing exercise that asked the simple yet personal question: ‘what’s
one thing about you that makes you different from most other people?’ By way of
example, I shared my own malfunction. After a moment of juvenile banter among the
students, along with the expected round of questions about my condition – it’s
limitations and advantages – it was time for them to share. What happened next
surprised me.
One by one, each of these middle- and
high-schoolers revealed unapparent differences in themselves. As one might
expect, a few comments sailed off-topic. One admitted liking to watch fire;
another squawked about hating school (despite high academic achievement).
Others offered comments more along the line of what I hoped. One stated being
born with an underdeveloped bladder. Another was color blind. Still another
admitted to being dyslexic. A hush filled the room when one spoke at a near
whisper that her mother had died during child birth.
“Is that why you always have to go to
the restroom during class?” “You can’t see any
colors, or just certain ones?” “It must
be hard to read stuff if you see letters backwards.” “You must miss your mom.”
As for what makes me different? My
malfunction is that I have no sense of smell. As a result, I never capture the
aroma of a simmering supper, nor catch the fragrance of spring. Neither can I
tell if and when a gas leak is in the house. On the other hand it’s easier for
me to brave the misadventure of entering an unkept toilet at a remote rest stop.
Sometimes it’s daunting to be fully
aware of your own limitations and feel intimidated by others who, on the
surface, seem more capable or even superior. Yet if we can remember that every
person – no matter what they say or how they seem – has things about them that
make them different, going about life can be a whole lot easier.