My Favorite

My whole life I have yearned to the "favorite" of those in my life.

I remember my mom talking about the love and care she had for her school kids. I would listen intently to her school stories, but always would end the conversation with, "But I'm your favorite, right?!" "You love me the most, right?"

When my husband talks about his adventures with his friends, I listen wholeheartedly, but secretly want him to end the story with a remark like, "But my adventures and time with you are my favorite."

I've even carried my insecurites over to things I say to Bennett. When tucking him in at night, I always say, "I love you to the moon, stinky face." And more often than not, I'll slip in the words, "You are mommy's favorite."

Nothing makes me beam with more pride then when students come back to visit me years later and say, "You are my favorite teacher I ever had." It just fills me with joy. That someone loved me the most.

I don't know why the obsession with being someone's favorite consumes me so much. I long to be one of those people that is so content in their own skin, that they could care less about the approval of others. Yet, here I am in my thirties, longing to be someone's favorite.

Which is ironic, considering my current place in life: I am clearly not my boss's favorite. I am not a favorite friend to anyone. I am certainly not everyone's favorite teacher, either.

And slowly, but surely, I am coming to terms that everything is okay. Thirty-one years on this Earth, and I am finally realizing all that really matters is that I am my own favorite. If I am content with my gifts, thoughts, and experiences, the approval of others is just icing on the cake. Hopefully someday I will have a best friend, or a boss that adores me, but right now I will just put my energy into accepting (and loving) myself!

I will keep working on becoming my own favorite...