“Are you going to show anyone’s pimples?” the coworker watching asked.
“I am showing pimples. Aren’t you really looking? Do you think you can do a better job?” the artist taking the photographs asked and then stormed away and left the building leaving the picture taking to the one who thought better of herself.
Icky feelings are best left where they are started for the ones who started them to roll around in.
Some watched her as she stormed away and some flailed a little — some tried a tiny margin to beg her to stay without any real concerted effort. They watched the next girl take her stab at being the better artist and then applauded and raved about how good she was — as if they knew.
She walked and walked, wondering if anyone was coming after her. Wondering if anyone was willing to try to soothe what felt like a gaping wound. She felt invisible and kept walking until she finally heard the bird song and saw some grass through the chain-link fence along the sidewalk growing, trying to reach the sky. She noticed that the sky was very blue. She finally felt invincible.
The moral of the story is it doesn’t matter what others think about you, it only matters what you do — don’t seek to be clapped about or to wear a crown — reach for the sky like the grass does and sing just like a bird.