by J. R. Practix
That’s me. Of the eight stars available, I am the ninth brightest.
But you see, here’s the power. Or maybe better phrased, here’s the solution: if you realize you’re the ninth brightest star, it’s a good idea not to get caught up in number envy.
No matter how hard you try to promote that idea, the natural question to those reading your advertising material would have to be: “Hmmm. I wonder where the other eight are…”
I think the key to the whole definition is this: if you’re the ninth brightest star, become important by finding your own southern hemisphere. OK. Maybe you’ll never make it to the northern hemisphere. Maybe you’re stuck below the equator, the Mason Dixon line, the belly button or just underneath the radar.
It doesn’t mean you don’t have light.
The ninth star does not look dim unless it hangs around trying to compete with Numbers Three and Four. Only stubbornness, pride and foolishness would make such a stupid choice.
Things that have “gone south” still need to be “lit up.” And if you’re the ninth brightest star, that’s your job.
I occasionally have people walk up (even though they don’t literally “walk up.” That’s just a phrase authors use to establish perspective) and they ask me, “Don’t you wish you could reach more people? Don’t you wish you were more famous? Don’t you wish …”
“Wishing” is for fairies and lamp rubbers. I stopped wishing a long time ago and now spend my time considering, planning and performing what I can do. Somewhere along the line you have to leave the rest up to time, chance and the whim of God.
So there are only two important things to remember if you’re the ninth brightest star:
- Find a darker place–where you look really bright.
- Enjoy what you have to bring instead of wishing you had more.
That’s it. If you do that, you can be like our friend, Achernar: you can do a job and have a really difficult name to pronounce … to further guarantee your obscurity.