Why I Won't Blend In.

And why you shouldn't, either.

It is not unusual to be patriotic for a country, yet no one I know is patriotic for the sun. It's wholly backwards, paradoxical even, to love a country, to become attached to the lines drawn in the sand, and remain indifferent towards the star that makes life possible. It’s like emerging thirsty and close to death from the unrelenting desert, and asking for a glass of water from a passing stranger. Then, to receive it and prize the glass instead of the water.

Perhaps coming to terms with our equal share of the sun is too far-fetched for the human mind to comprehend. Taking stock of our ownership of this constant star connects us not just with a tribe, but with everyone on earth. Even though this seems obvious, we always find new ways to diminish, separate or simplify. We are not from earth. We are from a country. We are not like them. They are not like us. We do not see light, just the shadow it casts.

We are more comfortable clinging to our smallness, our tribe, our customs, than to face the enormity of our shared brilliance, existence, and responsibility. Taking ownership of the sun is not just a thought experiment in belonging, but a recognition of the light connecting all of us. In such a way, I can begin to make sense of my tendency to eclipse my inner light in front of others.

If I sense my ambition to be threatening to people, I will try to subdue its potency. If I find myself cornered into receiving compliments, I will deflect the sweet words right back. If, amongst a crowd of people, I feel the urge to shout out some statement I know in my heart to be true, I will hold my tongue to avoid stirring up the silence.

For some reason, I feel the need to diminish the light trying to get out.

When we all agree to dim ourselves, the rooms we stand in grow faint and pale. Laughter becomes the sound of politeness and loses its reactionary explosiveness. Words become echoes of phrases that came before. We affirm safe truths to avoid revealing uncomfortable ones. If you’d hear your own voice in the wind, you’d mistake it for a faint tremor.

If a chameleon stepped onto the surface of a mirror, would it fade into transparency, or turn into its neutral colour? What if it came to understand that it didn’t need to blend in? What if it could allow itself to stand atop its shimmering surface, not trying to change itself, and simply stood in the form it came to exist?

When I consider love, I often think about how we resemble the things we fall in love with. The way dog owners start to look like their dogs, or partners start to mirror one another. When I think of patriotic individuals, I imagine them as ex-military. Tough looking, with coarse skin and sharp, ambitious eyes. Men who loved their country so much that they came to resemble it. Dressed in the colours of the flag, eyes like lakes, skin as rough as sand. Perhaps if we became patriotic for the sun we’d turn into luminous beings. We’d grow towards the light.

If humans learned to love the sun the way they learned to love their land, gravity would invert. We’d discover little use for borders, and find ourselves floating beyond them. A unity would form between all of us, irrespective of class or background or status. Schools would omit the question, ‘what do you want to do when you grow up?’ and replace it with, ‘what do you want to radiate when you grow towards the light?’

In her book, ‘A Return to Love’ Marianne Williamson states, ‘Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be?’

Even though I’ve never read this book, and came across it as a monologue in the film ‘Coach Carter’ (2005) as a young teen, it’s always stuck with me. I could never get my head around what it meant, not exactly, because fear always seemed like the largest obstacle to overcome. How could it be that it is ‘our light that most frightens us?’ Yet, over the years, I noticed ache in the eyes of those accustomed to dimming their light. I discovered, in people clearly talented at their craft, a habit of self-sabotage. An outward resistance to actually trying to achieve their dreams. In a crowded room, these people seemed confident in themselves, but in action they were cowards. Too terrified to face their own fire, they dulled themselves to embers.

“There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
— Marianne Williamson

I don’t know about you, but I did not come here to dim myself. I did not come here to blend in with mirrors. I am here to reflect the light coming through me, and to be charged up by the solar power of the sky. As I continue to evolve, I aim to do away with the borders I’ve erected for myself. I aim to move freely, like light across the plains. I will face my potential the way planets face their star. I will bathe in its dazzle. I will dim for no one. Neither should you.

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