I am nice

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It’s kind of funny how the first things you’re taught are the last things that matter.

In first grade I was taught that I could do absolutely anything with my life, even if I wanted to be super girl.

I was applauded by teachers for taking risks, being an individual, being myself

I, like every other child, was taught the basics of sharing, being nice, caring, and loving one another.

But suddenly that no longer seems to be enough.

In the first grade I was given two cards that served as ID, so if I ever went missing my parents could present it to help find me.

On the back of that card it asked for my “outstanding characteristics” and I took the initiative to fill that in and I wrote that my outstanding characteristic is that “she is nice”.

Now yes, that may get an “aww” by elders, but why does an outstanding characteristic such as being nice not count for very much as I grow older?

All of pieces of me that come together like a 1000 piece puzzle that creates who I am were crafted by my life experience.

My life experience has made me humble, wise, knowledgeable, loving, funny, and nice.

It hasn’t taught me math, or why the curtains in a novel are blue, or why if I get anything below a B I’m less than.

Suddenly my puzzle pieces are being lost, like a destructive force is playing with my puzzle game of life and chucking the pieces that don’t have numbers on them into the fire.

Why is it that I am encouraged to be a doctor or a lawyer, or a scientist – even if I’m a mediocre one? But when I tell someone I hope to pursue acting as a career it’s blasphemy?

Why was my desire to be an actress 10 years ago admired, but now it is ridiculed?

Why do I need to face so called reality?

What is reality? Is reality a pristine white picket fence? With a husband, kids, and a six figure salary?

Is reality defined by vain, mindless expectations that money will bring joy?

Money has never brought joy. Money brings corruption.

I would much rather be on a stage everyday and be filled with everlasting content

Than sit at a desk everyday and my bank account be filled with everlasting money

Why is happiness suddenly painted the color green?

Why am I unrealistic if I want to create my own path? And why does being nice no longer matter?

A 4.0 doesn’t mean love, it means smart

A 95 test average doesn’t mean nice, its means they study hard

A straight A report card doesn’t mean that someone has something to contribute to a community, it means they have good grades.

But one thing that every 4.0, 95 test average, straight A student has in common is that they are human. So why do numbers matter more than their human?

My grades may not have met gold honor roll, but my heart sure has.

My SAT scores may not at all be perfect, but my effort is pretty high up there.

My math grades may not be phenomenal but I am.

I am not a number.

I am a human that came with 1000 pieces to create my unique story.

As Nikola Tesla once said, “Let the future tell the truth, and evaluate each one according to his work and accomplishments. The present is theirs; the future, for which I have really worked, is mine.”

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