We’re used to headlines. And headliners. And theme music. To rock stars and taglines and the spotlight to tell us what matters. To talent searches to tell us what’s beautiful and what should be applauded. To cameras that catch every nuance of the intimacy of music or art or emotion. It can leave the rest of us feeling like we’re standing in the dark.

But what if we’ve got it backwards.

What if the pool of quiet that laps at the edges of our ordinary lives is the spotlight. What if the songs we sing over our toddlers are famous in the halls of their memories. What if all those times you and your daughters blared the radio and sang into your hair brushes is the A list. What if that macaroni necklace you wore for two weeks straight is the Tiffany’s of a five year old’s recollection because you treated it as such.

What if the cartoon strip your son drew that you had matted and framed and hung over your desk made him feel like Picasso. What if all those books you read out loud to tired kids that took up the time while you wished you could be writing your own are the story. What if the make up you applied across the freckles of a prom date, the scooter you assembled by hand, the weeks of growing avocado seeds are the sound check for the voice of the future that sings over who your tiny humans will become.

They see you. They see you.

Eyes wide with the wonder of how you make their favorite chocolate chip cookies. Ears full of the loud voice you are in their head. Hearts aching to grow up into a version of you. You are the headline of their lives. You are living the news.

There are more stages behind closed doors than in any arena.

And a day in and day out, standing ovation if we have the eyes to see it.

 

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