behind every succesful...

Rumor has it that behind every successful man there is a woman. So who exactly is behind every successful woman? Is it her mother, her girlfriends or is it actually another man? A father, brother, best friend or husband. Perhaps it is the same successful man who encouraged and inspired the same woman in his life to be the type of woman who would support him in order to make him as successful as he is.
Confused?
It is true that women are the pillars of society by virtue of being the caretakers of the home and their families and we know that many families make a society. At the same time the women we admire-those who seem to be behind every successful man-were nurtured by someone.
Knowledge passed down from our mothers and their mothers before came from their relationship with their husbands and or fathers, that is the men in their lives at that time. After all it’s only another man who can decipher what another man meant by what he said.
Bearing in mind it may be true to say that behind every successful mans woman is a man and most likely the very man who is successful.
If you don’t believe me picture this. How often do you spend time with the man in your life? It does not have to be physical contact. Even thoughts of him throughout the day, a random phone call, a text, that extra ticket to a sold out event that you begged for and knew who exactly would have loved to go, calling up your girlfriends to ‘decode’ what he meant when he said and why it was said the way it was, impromptu lunch dates…
Or the contrary, we might even spend time with the men who have hurt us in various ways by meditating on every hurtful thing they said and did. Plotting on revenge and vowing never to forget what they did and said. Worse still are the men who were never there for us. Either physical or emotional presence was lacking in our lives and there was no one to protect us while we were still vulnerable.
When we look at the men we admire in society and if we look carefully into their lives we see how they grow together with the women in their lives, only then do we realize that life comes full circle. The successful mans success is not void of mutual understanding and love between the man and the woman. Be it mother and son, wife and husband, daughter and father or brother sister-blood siblings or otherwise.
So as we celebrate our womanhood we should say three cheers to the men in our lives.
The ones who broke our hearts and we vowed never to love again and we did fall in love again. Those who destroyed our hopes and caused turmoil in our lives that in turn strengthened our faith in God. To those who strained our hearts to the point where we forced to find sisters who would shoulder some of the burden with us and we cannot imagine our lives without them.
The men who pampered us silly and we still know that deep down we will always be our daddy’s little girls. To those, who saw the beauty in our brokenness and brought it out of us for the world to see it. To the ones, in our lives, who turned our tears into gladness.
Maybe if it was not for the men in our lives we would still be in Venus…and earth is the only place with oxygen.

hmmm....

 I find myself thinking about the words of a certain song by my favorite band.

“….then I see that am nothing more than a dreamer. A superstar in my dreams am a dreamer.”

I thought of my childhood dreams of being a superstar... a rock star. I would have blue hair, an electric guitar but no tattoos or skull jewelry. I am on stage and it’s the final encore. Fireworks go off behind me,  lighting up the stage making the crowd go wild as am jamming to a hit song…did I just say jamming?

Snapping back to reality, I find my reflection staring back at me as if demanding me to hurry up and get to bed already and the foam around my mouth did not help much. My mum has always said I am a messy brusher.

Rinsing my mouth I realize the only jam that I am acquainted with is the one you spread on bread.

The thought of jam triggers my stomach to rumble for the third time that day desperate to remind me of how hungry I am. A quick midnight snack should fix that. A glass of milk, two slices of bread with butter (I needed to reconcile the jam issue before using any on the bread)

Was I just a dreamer, a superstar in my dreams?

At what point was it ok not to be me and instead pursue conventional norms. So I did not want to be a lawyer, teacher or doctor. When I was asked as a child what I would like to become when I grew up my mind would wander to a rock star reverie. Then I would fumble for an answer that would seem acceptable. Eventually I would end up saying ‘an engineer’ and I was happy to see them glow with pride.

I drained the remaining glass of milk and headed to bed.

In the silence of the night the rest of the song plays in my head.

“…I wanna be a star but is that all am really here for. And if am not a star will it be ok will I still be someone.”

So who am I without my super dreams? Who will I be with no spotlight?

I am a girl living out her life the best way she knows how. Keeping her faith and though not perfect still striving to, knowing that the far I have come is but a small miracle and that there is still room for more miracles. Not afraid to go where God is taking me or to live out the life that was made for me.

The rest of the song cuts short my thoughts.

“A super star I may never be

And that is just a reality

Why can’t we be Gods Superstars?”

Why can’t I be Gods superstar? Or am I? Is the audience the people I meet every day? Could it be my friends or family or a random stranger who offers a stray greeting?

Maybe the performance is my life. How do I play it out? Will the crowd demand an encore whether solicited for one or not?

The rock star hair will represent my personality. Have I let it shine without inhibitions, both from within and from without?

I finally smile for the first time since these thoughts infiltrated my mind. I do love my life and how it panned out even if I am not an actual superstar. I am in my own small way a superstar of a bigger kind. I am Gods superstar.

I remove the hairnet and ruffle my hair as a whisper a prayer to God, ‘Lord let me be your superstar, the kind that play a guitar. Just for tonight.’

I mentally unstrapped a guitar from my back and strum a tune.

A girl is allowed to dream. Right?