Belonging
For the longest time, I wanted to belong. As a little kid, I wanted to be picked for the kickball team. I wanted my brother David to be able to speak. I wanted friends who were allowed to come over to my house. I wanted to understand why people weren't terrified of crowds. How could they attend a concert and not feel crushed? I wanted to share something deeply personal and not feel like it would be cast aside. I wanted to belong and to be part of something. By the time puberty took over, I was resigned to not-belonging. I lied and embraced being outside whatever group I wanted to belong to. Building a wall of lies that became thick enough to offer some protection. Too thick too soon, and I didn't hear anyone knocking on the door. Asking to be let in. Asking to come inside... to belong... with me. Through college, I fell from one awkward ladder to the ground, over and over. Eventually, climbing the ladder was abandoned. The view couldn't be that good anyway. One afternoon ...