Thursday, March 24, 2011

Nothing Special

           Eleven years ago, I met a wonderful woman named Dr. Dorree Lynn.  I had interviewed her for a magazine article I was writing for Family Digest Magazine, and we became friends.  Dorree is a psychologist and the author of “When the Man you Love is Ill,” “Getting Sane Without Going Crazy,” and “Sex for Grownups.”  Not surprisingly, the article I wrote was titled “Sex with your Ex,” and in case you’re wondering, the cliff notes for that are—don’t do it. 
            In 2001, I went to Dr. Dorree’s fiftieth birthday party.  It was unlike any other party I had ever been to in that the party’s guest list was fifty women, women whom Dorree considered the most amazing women she knew.  I was flown to Washington, D.C. and put up in the Watergate hotel.  I ate with politicians and Directors of major organizations, had a little too much to drink with a certain FOX news correspondent and had the honor of meeting a beautiful woman who would become the title character of a national bestseller about her struggle with Parkinson’s Disease. 
            I have to say, I was a little overwhelmed by my inclusion.  Forty-nine women at this party were powerful, famous or well-known, most, all of the above.  And then there was me.  Although I was a little star-struck at the time, I remember going through the night almost embarrassed to answer the question, “What do you do?” I would stumble, and at least a few times, Dorree interrupted to say, “Kelly is a writer.”   
            A few days after the party, I told Dorree that although it was an awesome experience, I don’t feel that I belonged in that group.  Yes, I’m a writer, but no-one knows my name.  I am a dime a dozen, I am nothing special.  Dorree’s response: “Yes, you are special.  You just don’t know it yet.”
            Ten years later, Dorree and I have lost touch.  She has continued on her own path of writing books, participating in expert panels, counseling and giving relationship advice on everything from death to granny sex.  The other forty-nine of the fabulous fifty?  Well, let’s just say you would recognize most of their names.
            And then there is me.
            I went back to school and went back again, and am in school again.  I still write, but due to the time constraints of just living, I have never had the time or the luxury to pursue it as I would have liked.  No one knows my name, and probably never will, and I often wonder if I should have stuck with my dreams of being an astronaut.  Or, if I should just be satisfied with the daily grind.
            But, that won’t happen.  I will keep reaching, keep trying to achieve something more, keep trying to justify my place in that group of women I met ten years ago.  Because in the end, it may just be my tenacity that makes me special.

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