The Outsiders

The girl is doing her some ballet. It's sweet rec centre ballet. There is a nice, willowy, girl-loving woman who lets them come in whatever they like wearing and dance however their heart leads and treats them all like they're the beautiful young artists they are.

We are late to the ballet game. We didn't register when she was 3 or 4 or even this September when all these things begin. We've started in March. Third semester in the rec centre guide.

This is in no way sad for the young dancers - the emphasis here is on "I'm great as just me".  For this young dancer's mother, it's terrible. Because in my heart, I am still 7.  Still all too aware of who belongs and who doesn't. I don't feel great as just me at all.  I feel late, behind, outside.

The ouch of this is all too familiar of course.  And maybe I'm super-weird and no one else ever feels terrible and on the outs because they had a ballet teacher who told them they were great just as them when they were 5 and they've believed it ever since. Maybe there are people like that.

I'm not one. And I guess it's on my list of reasons I like Jesus. Because Jesus, even when he was surrounded by thousands, felt a bit outsidery.  Because Jesus, when he went through a town, kept his eyes open for the guys hiding up in trees. Because Jesus was pretty sure he was great just the way he was most of the time, but still in the end felt the ouch of being left out in that great cosmic terrible when he weeps, My God, My God! Why have you forsaken me? Why am I alone on the outside??

Hilariously, I know several women there from other spots in this small world. One is one of my secret people, one of my Now what?! email friends. We chat the whole time, and I'm hardly ever alone. But knowing there are other, more "in" people still stings. I don't love this about myself, but I am deciding to embrace the part where it kindles a kinship with the One in whom there are only insiders.