I feel like my whole life has been a creative endeavor. It’s improv. I showed up on this life stage and had to figure out who the other characters were and where the story was going. When that didn’t seem possible, I just made an exit and maybe tried a monologue elsewhere.

My brain doesn’t work the same as other peoples’ brains. I can’t give the answer they want to hear. On top of that, my hearing loss keeps me from knowing what has been said, even with my hearing aids.

In spite of all of that, I think a lot of people would look at me and think I’ve achieved a certain amount of success.

Dyslexia has forced me to be creative.

It has forced me to find another path around the problem, undetected, and to arrive at the answer. No one saw the elaborate shapes and diagrams I had visualized in lieu of memorizing my times tables.

They thought I was being lazy when I was probably working harder, though less efficiently, than the 9 out of 10 who understood the instructions.

When I write about my struggles or my self doubts, a lot of people respond, saying they relate to what I have said. They thank me for voicing what they have felt but have had trouble articulating. What this tells me is that I am not unique. “Mainstream society” is a myth. We are all individuals who struggle in some areas and discover our abilities and our gifts in other areas. Society isn’t made up mostly of flawless robots, and you and I are the only imperfect clearance items.

There are two ways to look at it. 1. Nobody is perfect. Everyone has challenges in life. 2. We are all perfect. We are perfectly us. What we see as imperfections are simply characteristics that are gifts nobody else possesses.

There is a very good chance that I am the only one that even notices the things I hate about myself anyway. What if I embrace them instead?