We don’t have to be rockstars

In one of my communities of belonging, a common expression of admiration used to be, “You’re a rockstar!” I winced hearing it, an internal pinch of envy.

Now, it’s different. Now I know that rockstars are amalgams, the energy of many with the face and name of one. Now I know that those who reach rockstar status find it to be an empty place, where they are still unknown, unloved.

When did this happen? When in our history as a species did we get confused about this? When did so many of us become invisible in service of so few? Why do we need to be seen, heard, understood, respected by so many before we can believe we are anyone at all? Why are so many of us looking for soapboxes and platforms, performing for strangers?

Loneliness gnaws at the lining of our stomachs. We are ravenous, convinced there will never be enough. No matter how much we dance for our supper, no matter how much adulation comes our way, the hunger never goes away.

“You’re a rockstar,” they say.

What we really long to hear is, “Namaste.”

I see you. I hear you. I know you. I respect you. I love you.

Namaste.