Noticed

The competition is on.

Who is selling the most?

Who is pre-booking the most?

Who is doing the most services per ticket?

Not I.

I was used to being last in track, used to being last done taking math tests, used to whatever else I suck at - but I thought maybe I would be good at what I'm good at.

And it would be nice if my boss told me instead of my coworkers.

They don't read this blog.

If they start, it's important that they know I love them to death.

They're older than me with more life and work experience, and perhaps my best really just isn't on their level yet.

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That said, I was just reminded recently of this one day in eighth grade math class when Mr Lair asked me to come up to the board and show everyone how I solved the bonus homework problem from the night before.

I love writing on whiteboards. They're like forbidden fruit - only teachers can use them. And the way a fresh marker glides across the surface, the way a concept can be conveyed to a large group of people - whiteboards are no joke.

And when I finished and sat down, Mr Lair pointed at my work, all lined up with arrows and explanations, and told the class:

"This, this is as close to a mathematical work of art as I have ever seen."

And he asked me to come up and explain it, and I was embarrassed because I knew everyone was like, "sheesh, Danielle getting recognition again, enough already and we don't care about the problem," but recognition and praise meant a lot to me back in the day and I was thrilled that I had been noticed.

Never again has my math been called artistic.

But my running has been compared to dancing.

Let's face it: recognition and praise still means a lot to me. It probably means a lot to you. I want to be called elegant and graceful, skilled and successful. I want people to notice.

Yesterday I was trying to find my way out of the labyrinth that is West Chester and a guy in a jeep at a stop sign let me go first even though I don't think it was my turn. I know in other posts, I'm all "OMG cute guy we might get married!"

My interpretation of THIS cute guy scenario is that I barely saw him but for a split second in the beautiful sunlight with our windows I was able to imagine an incredibly beautiful Prince Charming opening the door for me because, even with my kind of butch haircut, I was a lady.

And in that split second, with my imagination, I was elegant and graceful, and noticed.

Things are going to be okay.