I must be on the birthday circuit here at the Muffin because today is Mister Man’s birthday. (Last time we met, it was Oldest Junior Hall’s Birthday.)
Anyway, I don’t celebrate Mister Man’s birthday in quite the same way because he’s—I hope!—enjoying himself at a party on heaven’s side. But I always give him a shout out or two or fifty for all that he did for me.
Not that I didn’t express gratitude for all the times he filled my gas tank or filled out the taxes. But like most people who’ve lost a loved one, I didn’t realize how much he did until he…well, stopped doing it. But unlike an empty gas tank, the things I missed were of a far less tangible nature.
Take my writing career. I honestly had no idea the necessary role he played in my success. And I’m not talking about the financial support he gave in early days or the many times he’d drop me off and pick me up at an event because I have a terrible sense of direction and/or hate driving at night. Those were incredibly helpful and generous acts of kindness but I think I might have eventually succeeded without the conferences or the cash flow.
What I wouldn’t have succeeded without was his belief in me.
I mean, sure, I believed in myself. I wouldn’t have picked up that pen and started jotting down ideas if I didn’t believe I had something to say. And boy, did I have A LOT to say! I thought Mister Man would love to read every little word. Turned out, he was not that interested. Turned out, in fact, that he really did not want to read my creative ramblings.
At all.
But you know what he did do? When those editors or contest judges or agents also did not want to read my creative ramblings AT ALL, when critiques would shred my pages as well as my self-esteem, when I was sure that the hours and hours and hours of work I’d done meant nothing, Mister Man believed in me. He’d listen to my ranting and raving; he’d wait patiently for the tears to dry. And then he’d say something—what, I have no idea, and really, that’s not the point.
The point is, it wasn’t so much what he said as it was his steadfast, unwavering belief in me. That’s some powerful stuff, another person believing in you. It would bolster me to where I once again believed in myself. And I would pick up that pen and write.
I don’t think I appreciated that super power until Mister Man was no longer around; I floundered for several years, wanting to just quit the whole writing business. But I’m blessed with friends that, like Mister Man, believe in me. They listen, they commiserate, they wait patiently, but mostly they stand by, believing in me. And now, I’m starting a new journey in my writing career.
Yes, there’s much out there to help you be a writer. And of course, it starts with you believing you can do it. But don’t underestimate the power of that someone in your life who also believes in you, who’ll be there when your faith in yourself wavers. Because sometimes, it’s a who, not a what, that we often need to be successful.
(P.S. Happy Birthday, Mister Man—and thanks for everything!
With love from Cathy C. Hall)
