I wasn’t invited to the party.
Or, I was, but it came with a price (both figuratively and literally). A party that I had planned for the last two years is taking place as I write, and I can’t help but feel nostalgic…and also bitter at the same time. Not because I wasn’t invited, but just because everything that is this party has my stamp somewhere on it. I helped prep everything, I did all the designing, the planning…and to step away from that this year…it was hard. For two years, this was my life. I knew everything that was going on, who was going where, and I felt important…no, scratch that…I felt irreplaceable. But when I left, I suddenly found out…oh, wait… you are replaceable. In fact, this party will go on without me, and it will get done, and it will probably be great, and I will have had nothing to do with it. And a part of me is sad about this. A part of me wants to believe that I was the reason this party was as great as it was. A part of me wants that validation and praise.
But another part of me realizes it was time to move on. A part of me knows that it was the right decision to leave. And a part of me knows this might be…dare I say…another life lesson to add to the book.
And yes, I have no obligation at all to this party…I owe it nothing. I was the golden child one day, and the outcasted bastard child the next. I owe it nothing, and the party owes me nothing. And a part of me hopes someone misses me this year, but another part of me knows no one will.
Because, even though our mothers grind into our heads that we are not replaceable, the truth of the matter is that every single one of us is. The bottom line is that this party will go on without me, and it will go on without a hitch (although a part of me secretly hopes that something will be amiss…I am human, after all…), but at the end of the day, it will get done the way it was supposed to get done…and I will have nothing to do with it. I will be replaced. Hell, I’ve already been replaced. And it’s a bitter pill to swallow, because I like to think I am irreplaceable.
But at the end of the day, we are all replaceable…but not everyone is unforgettable. I’d much rather be the latter.
So the moral of the story is… everyone is replaceable, don’t think for a second that without you there, something won’t get done. It will…perhaps not in the extraordinary fashion that it once was, but it will get done. But don’t let this depress you. Be replaceable. But leave your mark. For even though everyone is replaceable, not everyone is unforgettable. And I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather be unforgettable.