I'm calling these people the exasperated encouragers. Exasperate means to 'irritate intensely'. (So far, this is delightfully alliterative and therefore, very promising.) As counter-intuitive as it seems that those who encourage would also be seriously irritated with you, we all know it's true. We like encouragers. They say nice things to us. They boost us up when we need a dose of 'Hey, you're awesome.' And yet sometimes we drain them dry.
See, I’ve been squeaking and whimpering about being a writer my whole life. Well, nearly. The first nine or so years don’t count since I was whining about other, less consequential things. Food, siblings, wearing corduroy pants the colours of the rainbow… The past few months, however, have been quite eye-opening for me in terms of writing. Ironic, I know, since this space has been pretty quiet. I’ll chat more about that on Monday because this post isn’t about me. Get to the point, Thelma.
This past week, as I lurched uncomfortably outside of my comfort zone I'm pretty sure I heard a collective sigh of 'Well it's about time.'
That there? Exasperation. Maybe a little relief. The universal sound of encouragers who waited and waited while hedging their bets on how many decades would pass before I got over myself. Having been there -(im)patiently waiting for someone to realize the truth I've known all along - I understand the irritation.
They are a needed bunch, these exasperated encouragers. The voice of courage, they ply us with bravery as we timidly poke the edges of our safety net. They've heard it all before and are willing to hear it one more time. And when we figure it out? The first ones cheering while they nod knowingly, they are the graceful 'I told you so-ers' of the world.
And so, to the exasperated encouragers in my world... thanks. For reals. You know who you are and you're awesome.
If you wanted to give a shout-out to someone today, who would it be?
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