I was born into a family of successful lawyers, real estate developers, pharmacists, and electrical engineers. I don't fit in with any of them. They all have résumés that are packed full of degrees and projects that they have spearheaded. They have fancy cars and ties that match their socks.
My major accomplishment is that I have a blog. I drive a 1996 Buick with windows that I can't roll down. I have only one pair of dress socks that are often butchered by my children and formed into sock puppets.
Yesterday I spent the day with my extended family at a funeral service. Afterwards, there was a reception where we all just gathered and started grilling each other to determine who was the most successful and who had the most beautiful children.
I'm treated like a circus performer. I'm often asked what it is I do because they have a hard time understanding that I don't really have a desk or a vocational altar that I have sacrificed my life at the feet of. I used to lie and say that I was taking classes online or that I have some freelance project that prevents me from joining the herd with them.
Yesterday I stopped lying. I just told people (about 300 times) that I'm a storyteller. That is all I am. That is all I'm slightly good at. The reaction to this from my family was fairly predictable. There were a great deal uneasy smiles, awkward pauses and blank stares. Every time I said that out loud I became more and more terrified. I'm terrified because I really have no other qualifications.
This is all I can really do. Oh, God...I'm just a storyteller.
I better get a heck of a lot better at it.