Sunday morning I awoke to a world encased in crystal and covered in diamonds. It brought me back to a favorite childhood memory.
One evening I decided to venture out sledding by the light of the full moon. I don’t remember much of the sledding. I remember standing on top of a hill looking out over a glittering valley. I was no longer a bumpkin in patched jeans: I was a princess covered in diamonds.
We were richer than kings, my Dad used to say. I rarely felt that way in my out of style, worn out clothing. And we could never afford a saddle for my pony. Funny that it never occurred to me how blessed I was to have a pony in the first place. This moonlit sledding venture was, perhaps, the first time I truly understood what Dad meant.
It’s also funny how I let the fact of being out of style influence my sense of self-worth. I never cared that much about the fashion industry. My own tastes gravitate to folk art. (I was fusion before fusion was cool.) Yet I was painfully aware that I was somehow different. (That’s what happens in high school when you listen to Russian opera instead of pop music.) I always felt like the odd one, like someone in the wrong place and time.
Now when I look back, I see that wasn’t such a bad thing. I learned that my worth comes from something other than economic status. I learned to exist and think independently. I learned to make my own sense of style and develop my own sense of beauty. I feel no need to buy the latest fashion, listen to the latest sound… Perhaps that makes me irrelevant in the eyes of some people. That fact is still somewhat painful to me, though less so than it was when I was young. The opinion of those people, even if it stings a little, is ultimately irrelevant to me.
I learned to see diamonds in the snow. I’d rather have that gift than all the jewels in the world. I’d rather have that gift than to be considered relevant by people who don’t understand where real wealth lies.