The Cadbury Lion


So I recently shared this with twitter:

We're not gonna discuss how my twitter page hears crickets way more than it hears the sounds little blue birds make when they love something. Y'all...I'm smelling something. It's a mix of mediocrity and disappointment and it's coming from my life.

When I was in the 2nd grade I remember watching the kids play and having this definitive moment. I watched a girl smoke a whole crew of boys in a race and I saw her greatness. I started seeing lots of kids' greatness and I developed a theory that everyone was really great at something; you just had to find out what your super talent was.

I started out strong. Teachers all through my educational journey praised and encouraged me. They enabled my little big fish/small pond ass. I was going to be great. I was going to be a leader. (Shout out to Mr. Older, Teresa Fernandez and Ms. Winters. You were the wind beneath my big fish wings.) Hell, my family had some woman read coffee beans and that woman said I was going to be this larger than life phenom who would command great audiences. No pressure, no pressure.

I've wanted to be an actor since I was four so I figured that's where my greatness would spring forth. I'd come to LA, struggle a tiny bit (just enough to make my mama cry during my Oscar speech) and then I'd take my seat upon the throne of excellence. Oprah was going to have me on her show and we'd have an Oprah moment that would involve her giving me the Oprah high five...

Exhibit 1

 Exhibit 2

She'd invite me to her Legends slumber parties and we'd be tight. When I wasn't filming something magically moving and uplifting I'd sit under her big tree and help her garden. It's what friends are for.

I've been in LA for eleven years now and I'm auditioning for dog breath commercials. I spent actual energy wondering if my disgust with Pipin the dog's breath was believable. Where did I go wrong?

I've been attempting to get back into writing just so I can feel like I'm doing something good...ish in my life. I applied for a writing grant and yesterday I submitted for a fellowship. After I hit the send button I started reading the bios of this year's fellowship writers and I immediately wanted to pull whatever magic plug I could to take back my dang submission. Those people are gonna laugh so hard at my mediocre butt.

I'm realizing it hella late but I never really became great at anything. I'm okay-ish at life. I'm an okay okay actor. Do okay people ever accomplish their dreams?! Shit. Don't answer that!

You know how that zombie in I Am Legend is hella pissed because Will Smith has just knocked his boo the hell out and he can't do a damn thing about it because he's allergic to light so he just stands there roaring like the lion from the Cadbury Easter Bunny commercial?

I am that zombie. I swear I'm allergic to that divine light all the hippies are talking about. You know the light I'm talking about, damn it. It's the light that Beyonce, Oprah, Ava, Shanda, Quinta, Gloria Steinem and Joanne the Scammer stand in. I'm allergic to it and I have no idea what to do. I see people standing in the light; doing the damn thing and I stand off to the side in the shadows wondering how in the hell they were able to do it.

I have no idea what I'm doing. Obviously, since I made it all official and tweeted it. Moment of that positive, hippie stuff, though: I plan to at least try to find my greatness. When I'm not slabbing butt paste on my daughter or gulping wine because a one year old has hurt my feelings I shall find my light.

I'm apparently a mediocre optimist too.


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