These moments can be disconcerting, but they also can be moments of clarity and comfort, if we choose to accept them and learn from them.
Today, I had one of these moments.
We are preparing for a major news release around some work we've been doing, and there have been a tremendous number of tasks to complete: figures to research, FAQ's the write, "sound bites" to rehearse, choices about who goes in front of the camera and who does the print interviews. Today, I ghost-wrote an OpEd for my boss, coached another one of the docs, revamped the budgets and trashed and re-configured the basic design on one of our marketing pieces.
The doc I was coaching on sound bites started to laugh, "Next, you'll be doing my surgery for me!"
"Nope," I said, "I'm strictly behind the scenes. I handle the words and the numbers. You do the rock star thing."
Then it occurred to me: I'm Velma Dinkley.
You remember Velma -- from Scooby Doo? The brainy, somewhat overweight one who talked too much? The one who solved the mystery, but that bastid Fred always took credit? (What was up with that retarded ascot, BTW?) Yep, that's me. I'm the Velmster.
10 years ago, this revelation would have sent me running for a Vicodin and Vodka cocktail.
Now? I guess I'm OK with it. I rather like it, in fact. Velma had her place in the world. She even got to be a hottie in the live-action Scooby Doo movie.
Ok, OK, I'd still rather look like Sarah Michelle Gellar. But who wouldn't?
But for now, I guess I'm OK being Velma.
