Here is a short play to illustrate a situation that drives me instacrazy:
PHIL (looking “I just found out my town has a cupcake truck’ excited): Hey, man, you’ll never believe it.
MEAT SACK (with a half smirk and elitist hair part): I probably will, but go ahead and tell me anyway.
PHIL: You know that thing I’ve been working super hard on for so long?
MEAT SACK: (shrugs, takes drag of e-cigarette)
PHIL: Well, I finally finished it! I’m positively over the moon!
MEAT SACK (exhaling a cloud of atomized nontoxic aerosol): I started a guerilla garden in the abandoned lot by my yarn store.
PHIL: What? That’s…did you hear what I said?
MEAT SACK: And I’m off corn. No corn or corn products at all in my diet. I feel amazing.
PHIL: You don’t seem to be listening to me.
MEAT SACK: Huh? Oh yeah, yeah, you’re…uh…thing there. You’re little project.
PHIL: It’s not really “little”. I mean, I put a lot of–
MEAT SACK: No, that’s cool. Congrats, bro. Totally exciting. I’ll do that thing you did eventually too. I just need to set some time aside to do it. Free up some space on my “To Do” list.
PHIL: It takes more than time, though. Discipline, knowledge, skill, talent, passion.
MEAT SACK: I’ve got to get my kale planted and I’m knitting some muffs and I’m not eating corn so my schedule is just packed full right now.
PHIL: I think I hate you.
MEAT SACK: You wanna play squash?
I didn’t tell people I was writing a book for a long time for fear of the I could totally do that reply. I did tell people eventually and I absolutely got that response from a few, but by no means the majority. Still, a few is all it takes sometimes. At first, I didn’t realize why it bothered me so much. Yes, you could write a book. I’ve seen you read things and spell words and you tell the occasional story that has a beginning, a middle and an end. You possess the most basic of skills required for the task. I don’t believe I’m the only person capable of writing a book. Tens of thousands of people do it every year. You could totally be one of those people.
So why does it bother me?
Because I’m not talking about you. I’m talking about me.
Yes, that sounds incredibly conceited, but I believe we should celebrate our successes. I believe we should celebrate each other’s successes. I believe we should celebrate each other’s successes without feeling the need to say I could totally do that. It’s your moment, live it up. You earned it. Do some cartwheels, and I’ll throw confetti in your face. When it’s my turn, I hope you’ll throw some in mine.