A friend coined the notion. One time we were talking and I expounded on the mediocrity of my life.
"Middle dog. I get it. Somehow we expect ourselves to always be the top dog. But that's not possible."
Maybe it's not even preferable.
There have been times when my failings were the pathway to understanding how someone else feels. I am competent with fabric and thread, and can slip into impatience as I remind a student for the fourth time to put pretty sides together. Then when I am stumped by my phone and timidly ask my son to explain yet again how to take a screen shot, there is an entry point for empathy.
One time I visited someone in the hospital with a dire prognosis, trying to cheer him as he lay in white sheets wondering if he had a future. I came home to a stack of dishes that I felt privileged to wash. It doesn't get much more ho hum than dirty pots.
The experience of being forgiven by a friend when I treated her badly brought me to a new level of gratitude, one that does not thrive when I think I deserve her.
Bravo for the entrepreneurs, and creative directors of edgy start ups. Kuddos to the parents that take in foster children, and volunteer in third world countries. A round of applause for the brave souls who discover cures, and cobble peace agreements between sparring nations.
I will be scrubbing pots, and forgiving the people I love.
