Who follows their own advice? Tell me because I want to kidnap them and bring them home with me. Maybe if I sleep with them under my pillow something will sink into my brain.
I foolishly skip around the internet like an old-enough-to-know-better Red Riding Hood, and I see all these fascinating things and discover these talented, clever people, and then RRRROWR the big bad wolf of jealousy and doubt rips out my throat. Makes me think the wheels of a bus wouldn’t be so bad. Okay, not really. But you get the idea.
Every bloody semester I tell my students not to worry about the students who finish the tests first or who have fewer marks on their papers. Everyone learns at her own speed and everyone has his own strengths. Maybe she finished first but the answers are all wrong. Maybe he’s got marks on his paper but it’s boring and too easy. Maybe she really is perfect, but stressing out about it won’t help you learn.
Can I follow my own advice? Of course not. Oh, those powerful little letters–est. Prettiest. Smartest. Cleverest. Best. Back in school I got so attached to be the tallest (as the only -est I could claim) that if some girl showed up who was taller, I got depressed. No, I’m the tallest! Who was I if I wasn’t? And I didn’t even really like being tall for a long time–clothes don’t fit and boys don’t like you.
Anyway, ridiculous childhood memories aside, this year I’m killing -est. That’s right. I’m not going to tell anyone she’s the greatest. She’s great. He’s not the nicest. He’s nice. So, -est (and your other guise most), the bus is hurtling by; meet the wheels.