Popularity or Greatness?

At the risk of revealing my lack of humility, I was the most popular kid in First Grade. The other children used to follow me around, worshipfully begging me to play with them. I can still hear them saying, “Susie, Susie, please pick me today.” I enjoyed the attention, of course, and continued to focus on my schoolwork and piano lessons. I didn’t just want to be the popular kid, I wanted to be the smart kid too. Greedy? Maybe.

Then puberty worked its hormonal confusion and being popular with boys added a new dimension. They liked girls who were good at sports, which I was not. “Popular” girls had a certain look and a coolness about them. I wanted to be the cheerleader and the homecoming queen, but neither happened. I guess I wasn’t “perfect” enough. I felt disdain for my flaws. My focus was more on popularity than greatness. I poured out my powerlessness over it all in my poems. I was drawn to songs that spoke to the popularity dilemma, such as “At 17” by Janis Ian. Music is a great release for adolescent angst.

Fast forward to present day popularity. Reality shows. Tabloid news. Stadiums full of “American Idol” wannabes. WE ALL WANNABE. Our chance encounter with George Lopez was filled with encouragement that if he could “make it,” so could Sue and Bob Lopez. But the question is, make what? Money? Fame? Celebrity? Some people get there by being great. Elton John comes to mind. But not all popular people are great.

My conclusion is that we all need to define greatness for ourselves and go for it. If popularity follows, that’s the icing on the cake. But pursuing popularity is frustrating, and I found it pretty empty. A steady diet of icing would get old. My greatness is in my ability to express. It takes many forms, and all have their rewards. I make money. I’m well known by the people I know well. And the paparazzi don’t bother me. My foibles don’t make the news. There are benefits to non-celebrity life.

Last night I was playing piano in a hotel lobby. A few “supermodels” stood nearby and had a very loud conversation about someone or shoes or something. The contrast stuck me. I was happy to be me. I’d rather be the talent than the supermodel. And I’d rather be Sue than Susie. My imperfections had a purpose after all. They give me dimension, depth, and—perhaps most importantly—humility.