At a recent sales training event, the speaker had everyone announce with conviction, “I am exceptional.” These declarations were followed by titters of laughter, as you would expect. Most of us are just not comfortable making those kinds of declarations because, well, maybe we aren’t exceptional.

My question is this: what’s wrong with that?!  Why do I have to claim to be exceptional? I can be honest, admirable, hard-working, loving, kind, intelligent, funny, and a snappy dresser (at some point in my life I want someone to describe me as a snappy dresser).  Not one of those traits (or necessarily even the combination of them) makes me exceptional and THERE’S NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT.

We don’t all have to be exceptional.  In fact, if we all are, then by definition, none of us are. Elvis, Jane Goodall, Irena Sendler, Nelson Mandela, Genghis Khan, Chuck Yeager – those are exceptional people.  I don’t rank in their number; however, that doesn’t make me garbage. If you rank up there with them, then, fantastic!  Go you! But, if you’re like me and just a normal person doing their level best to have a positive effect on the world around you, then, fantastic!  GO US!

I was involved in a recent “conversation” with an internet troll over Mr. Rogers and whether or not it was a good thing that he told millions of children that they were special.  Somehow, this troll equated “everyone is special” to “everyone is a winner and gets a trophy just for showing up.”  I just don’t see the causal relationship there or even a logical connection. I guess it all depends on how you define “special.”  To me, special means unique and I would argue that, at least to a point, we are all unique. To the troll, special means exceptional. And, I suppose it could.  In the context of The Neighborhood, though, I don’t think that’s what Mr. Rogers was saying.  Still, I don’t think that the troll is the only one making that correlation. I think that many of us have been convinced that we are all – or should be – exceptional.

For instance, in that training event, the implication was the “special” isn’t good enough.  “Exceptional” is the requirement, but (lucky us) we are already in the E-Club.  That’s been bothering me ever since.

Is it my Presbyterian heritage? Catholic school? The obvious theological train wreck between those two? Is it my nature? My social experience? Or is it because I know my heart, my soul and my weaknesses?  I know where the loose stones are in the castle walls, my friends. I know the castle isn’t flawless (feel free to disagree). If I lay claim to Exceptional, I feel like I’m laying claim to Perfection which is so patently false that I can barely even type for fear of divine retribution. (Plus, I can hear my sister laughing 286 miles away.)

You know what, though? I don’t really care. I maintain that I’m special and that’s good enough for me.

A couple of weeks ago, I noticed that a colleague had done something new with her hair, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was.  She got bangs cut.  “They were cheaper than botox,” she said. Now, this woman has beautiful eyes – gorgeous, I tell you.  They remind me of Barbara Eden’s – kind of almond-shaped like the Magyars.  She had lost sight of her beautiful eyes, though, and saw only a lined forehead when she looked in the mirror.

That’s at least a little true for all of us, isn’t it?  We see our flaws to the extent that they become all we see.  After a lifetime, I still see myself as fat.  I don’t really know what size my body is. I turn sideways to go through two pieces of furniture or to walk between two people even though I may not have to anymore.  I still find myself looking in the XL racks in the women’s department.  I have usually already stopped at the Lane Bryant window before I remember that those clothes don’t fit me anymore.

Looking for a grey shrug, I stopped into a boutique in Nashville last week.  I saw a cute little jacket but wasn’t going to try the tiny thing on.  The saleslady gave me an odd look until I explained the whole situation to her.  She said, “Oh! You guys are my favorite people to dress!  You have no idea what size you are and you get so excited about how things look on you!”  Well, she was right on both counts.  And the tiny little jacket fit.

Also last week, my cousin Mary Katherine shared a blog with me: This Is How To Be Fat.  I loved it!  I love the account of the woman at the pool and how her confidence made her the most attractive woman there.  She was comfortable in her own skin.  In addition to the health benefits and stuff, isn’t that what we really want? To be comfortable in our skins?

It’s tough, though.  Everywhere we look, we are bombarded with subliminal or blatant messages telling us that something is wrong with us.  We are too fat, too thin (maybe not that one), too white, too black, too old, or too young (maybe not that one, either). Our teeth aren’t white enough or straight enough. Our car isn’t sexy enough. Our dogs’ coats aren’t even shiny enough and we don’t vacation in the right places.  Every day, all day long, we are told that we are Less Than. You know what? Nerts to that! (Totally not what I’m thinking right now, but this is a family show.)

Madison Avenue never met me or you! They have neither basis nor right to tell us that we are Less Than.

Let’s ignite our own inner fires today to show our strength and confidence.  Let’s go with it, comfortable in our own beautiful minds, spirits, and bodies.  If you are healthy, rock what you’ve got! Dress to show your confidence.  Get you some bangs cut. Or, pull your hair back and display what experience has given you. That’s the way to victoriously face this day and it’s way cheaper than botox.

AMC’s “Breaking Bad” is one of my favorite shows.  I love the character development. While Flynn has cerebral palsy, it’s not a Thing – it’s just part of him.  It describes him, but doesn’t define him.  Neither Walter nor Jesse are all good or all bad; but, at any given time, you might want to hug or throttle either of them.  Marie’s favorite color is purple.  It’s unnecessary information and they never make a big deal about it.  But, because she surrounds herself with purple things, we get it.  The tidbit makes her more relatable.  The writing is really good and I love that the characters feel real and that they evolve.

Last night, I caught up on season five and was struck anew at how Walter has changed from a desperate man who just wanted to take care of his family to this… well, I won’t say.  I don’t want to spoil it for you.  I will say that old Walt has far more on his mind now than just a legacy.  He has evolved from a doormat to the poster child for megalomania.

“Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.” – Abraham Lincoln

Walt performs poorly in the Lincoln test.

How does that relate to weight loss, positive thinking, attitude adjustments and healthful living?  I’m not really sure.  I’m just thinking about the show and jonesing for next season.  (Plus I over-analyze absolutely everything and make connections between apparently dissociated things.) I think it’s the devolution that fascinates me.  Most of the characters actually devolve more than they evolve; but, they do it so slowly that they don’t even realize it.

That was how I found myself in the midst of The Great Regain.  I wasn’t paying attention.  I used ego-driven excuses to allow myself to revert to bad habits. I lied to myself about what I was doing and, voila! There were 30 pounds.  As my friend David says, “Automagically.”

I talk a lot about focus and awareness.  Of course, I didn’t sit down and make a list of goals that included gaining weight. I lost focus, was unaware and achieved the unwritten goal.  How does it go? If you fail to plan, you plan to fail? Pithy saying, that, but true nevertheless. I failed to plan for a maintenance strategy.  I failed to plan for times of professional and spiritual challenge.  So, I failed to keep all of the weight off.

My slide was slow, slower than Walt’s, for sure, and not nearly as dramatic.  I’m not going from chemistry teacher to meth kingpin.  Seriously, I was terrible at chemistry! But I did go from the best shape of my life to a little hippy.  Thankfully, I became aware of the slide before I was all the way back at zaftig (what a great word!). I’m much more conscientious now and struggling to stay that way.  You all help more than you know.  Thanks!

Oh, and my favorite color is yellow.

In a parable credited to the Cherokee, an old chief teaches his grandson about life.

And I’ll bet there’s one in your kitchen, too.

Across the globe, from the Balkans to Bozeman, there is a legend told of a man (a brave, a farmer, etc, but never a woman, we don’t talk to snakes) who is on a mountaintop (in a field, in a blizzard, etc.) In the cold, this man happens upon a viper.  Freezing to death, the snake begs the man to pick him up and put him inside the man’s coat (carry him down from the mountain, etc.) The man, showing presence of mind despite the talking snake, replies, “Nothing doing.  You’re a snake and you’ll bite me.”  The snake says, “Nah, man! That was the old me!  I’m a changed viper, dude.  I won’t bite you.”

This goes back and forth, back and forth until, finally, the man picks up the snake, tucks him into his coat and carts him off someplace nice and warm.  Upon arrival, our village idiot budding herpetologist puts the snake down, expecting some kind of snaky high-five.  Instead, the snake bites him.

“Dude!  Not cool!  You gave me your word you wouldn’t bite me!” says our guy.

To which the snake replies (and here’s the important part), “You knew what I was when you picked me up.”

Playing with fire. Tempting fate. Having a tiger by the tail. Walking down the snack aisle.  All expressions of voluntarily putting oneself in a dangerous position – or they should be.

Yesterday, I baked some yellow mini-cupcakes to take to a barbeque.  As far as cupcakes go, they weren’t all that bad – yellow cake, hollowed out a little to hold various sliced fruits, dark chocolate, and/or whipped cream.  Devoid of icing, they were a better choice.  Still, let’s not kid ourselves here: they were cupcakes. They are nutritionally bankrupt food fine for a celebration, but not to have hanging around my kitchen like I do this morning.  There is a snake on my countertop and it is shaped like a cupcake.

To a nicotine addict, cigarettes are dangerous.  To a sugar addict, snacks are just as deadly.  As I’ve said before, I do not keep them in my house…I can’t.  I have lost a lot of weight, yes; however, I still have food issues and the smartest way for me to deal with them is to control my exposure to them.  I can’t eat what I don’t have.  And if I choose to keep things like the cupcakes in my house, then I’m just asking to get bitten, after all, I knew what it was when I picked it up.

So, as we go forth today, let’s bear in mind the man and the snake, and Jim Croce who sang:

And you don’t tug on Superman’s cape
You don’t spit into the wind
You don’t pull the mask off that old Lone Ranger
And you don’t mess around with Betty Crocker.