Back in the day, I used to love to blog about “American Idol” and the triumphs and seeming injustices of it all, but the bottom line was that I was in love with the “characters.” From Simon to Randy to all of the contestants, I identified “my” winners early on and cheered them on till the end.
That said, I am lovin’ me some Mandisa this season. Unless she does a horrible performance (and I highly doubt it), she’s got my text-message vote till the end of time.
Simon had been a dick about her after her audition. And when she made it to the finals, she had an opportunity to confront him about it. She did so with grace, poise, dignity and CLASS. I fell more in love with her than ever before.
She rocked SOCKS the other night when she performed. In fact, I only managed to stay awake to watch her and Kellie Pickler, as I was exhausted from travel and actually BORED by everyone else who followed them that night.
I was talking to my best friend about her today. We were raving about her inner calm and her outer showmanship. And we expressed a lot of envy about her confidence. The whole thing about Simon insulting her was based solely on her size, and she doesn’t let that matter to her. She went to him and said she FORGAVE him for what he said. She admitted that she’d felt very hurt by his words but that she could move on from it. And that totally won his respect … and my admiration.
She reminds me very much of me — an earlier version of me, though. She dresses how she wants, she emanates passion and excitement and originality, and she isn’t afraid to be herself. I try to be that way even now, but there’s such a layer of trepidation anymore that I’m having a hard time shaking off.
My friend and I were talking about how we are always overflowing with ideas and motivation and that we want people to sit up and take notice of us — to see us as well as listen to us. But the years have corroded our respective self-images so much that we’ve sort of become afraid of being seen. I think there’ve been so many instances of us being seen and not being taken seriously that we just keep our brilliance and magnitude to ourselves. And maybe no one would expect any just by looking at us. Boy, are they wrong if that’s true.
If you look at ‘Idol’ contestants, you’ve got the butterfaces with good voices, the pretty people with OK voices and then the so-called “underdogs” who don’t supposedly look like traditional pop stars but who can, as an old boss of mine used to say, “SANG!” But really, those in the last category are gorgeous on the inside, and with the right training and encouragement, it comes to the forefront and transforms said budding star into an actual star.
It’s always been my belief that there is beauty in everyone and everything. Even though I’ve (of late) stopped including myself in that general statement. I’ve sort of lapsed into an oblivion of feeling small and insignificant and maybe even not worthy of notice, and while I’m not exactly OK with it, it is what it is and I’ve figured it’s just a phase.
The thing is, after you’ve heard enough voices tearing you apart, you learn to anticipate what they’re going to say and you end up with those evil little voices chanting within you — preparing you for the worst. Problem is, you rehearse them so often that they can become all that you hear above the quiet yet strong voice beneath it that would lift you up to where your spirits should be.
But you can’t keep me down for very long. Rather recently, my mind somehow rewired itself and made me really, truly want — I don’t know — *something.* And maybe what’s popped into my head is what I want and maybe it’s what I’ll get, but god, just to have some kind of dream to hold on to, however unrealistic and/or unattainable it might be right now — it’s like my psyche threw me a life preserver.
Sometimes I get scared to dream. Like, what if I get my hopes up? Can I stand to be shattered again? Should I just lapse into a fog and not really want anything so I won’t have yet another disappointment to overcome?
And then, I mentally kick myself and think about my novels that would go unwritten, the poetry that would never evolve into a verse, the potential creativity and love and contributions to this world that would go unrealized. I have to sometimes force myself to stop saying, “It’ll never happen” and reprogram myself to say, “It hasn’t happened YET.”
I always say, “Speak it into existence.” Want something? Go after it. Picture it. Envision what you’ll be wearing, what you’ll say, what sensory influences will mark the moment when you finally achieve your milestone. Don’t be afraid to dream … instead, be afraid of all the great things you’d miss out on by squelching your wildest thoughts.
Achievement begets greater achievements. And if we’re so dead-set against others holding us back, why do we hold OURSELVES back?
So, until I finish gathering the irreverent strength that I know is hiding within me somewhere (as I’ve seen it before and need to dust it off), I will be cheering on Mandisa as she takes advantage of her chance to set the world on fire in any way she can.
My turn is coming next, I can feel it in my soul and my bones. I might not be on a nationally televised stage, but hey, you never know what can happen. The first step is re-emerging from my self-inflicted shell. The second step can be as far of a leap as I’m ready to make. …
