SECOND PLACE

Eleven years old, Sixth Grade, a day I will always remember, I won the MOST IMPROVED IN GYMNASTICS trophy in Gym class at the end of the school year. I've never been an athlete. Let’s face it: I was one of those picked last for every team. I’d trip over my shoelaces before I could play kickball. But on that glorious day I finally won an actual trophy. Okay, three inches tall at the max (I have since lost that cherished item) and silver painted plastic, not the gold prize that had been awarded to the girl who won “Best," still an accomplishment for me.

Since then, I earned a scholastic medal and a full fellowship to graduate school. However, I’ve never cared about being the “best.” I’ve only been concerned with doing my best, until now. Without going into personal specifics, I’ve been in second place for the last six months. No, let me re-phrase that: a distant third. I won’t lay blame on  the person involved. He’s not married or involved with another woman. His life belongs to his three grown children. Two of whom have their own kids. The other has serious challenges. Even more problematic, he wouldn't introduce me to most of his family, except for a brief visit with his grandchildren, all of whom live an hour away Two of whom have their own kids. The other has serious challenges. No one could argue that as a father or grandfather, this man would win the award for “Best.”

 Sadly, however, he reached out to me for what has been lacking in his life for too long—romantic love. For half a year, I have supported, loved, compromised and only asked to be on the second rung on his priority ladder. I have realized, tonight, that I did myself a disservice. Having been warned from the beginning that he had priorities, I chose a path toward roadblocks that I couldn’t scale and participated in a competition I couldn’t possibly win. My only reason for persevering being “love” and wanting to share my life with a man some would describe as a perfect match.

If I were to agree with that description, I’d be assigning value, making the man the champion among many who didn’t come close. To rate anyone, a lover or friend as compared to another is wrong. Each person brings unique characteristics. So, what have I learned from this experience? Being a winner doesn’t mean meeting society’s expectations or finding the “one.” What matters is that I will survive, as I have many other challenges, and that I deserve to be in first place, to reward the one person who matters more than anyone: myself.