Gifted, Musings

What Is Gifted?

What does it mean to be gifted?

Did you know that some gifted people don’t feel particularly intelligent? They see the potential of the human mind, calculate where they are in relation to that, and then logically conclude that no, they aren’t really all that bright. They’re simply smarter than some people. Isn’t everyone?

Giftedness comes with as many challenges as it does, well, gifts. Yet to complain about these challenges is sometimes seen as not only ungrateful but arrogant. “Why are you complaining?” they’ll ask you. “You’re smart, you’re articulate, you’re good at pretty much anything you put your mind to. People love you. Stop complaining.”

This is what those who don’t understand will say. Thankfully there aren’t many of these sorts of people. In fact, most don’t care enough at all to say anything. Some, however, care enough to try to understand you. They’ll ask honest questions they actually want to know the answer to. And then they listen, genuinely, to your response. This last group is, quite obviously, the one you should gravitate toward in your life.

What are we willing to sacrifice for our intensity? Very little, it seems.

We cry fountains of tears because we know that on the other side of this torrent exists a radiant joy that very few ever get to experience in their lifetime.

We fatigue our bodies under mountains of over-thinking because to hold our brains back is to potentially numb out our most creative and profound epiphanies.

We love fiercely and with fearless ferocity because what is life without this? It is nothing.

We open our nervous systems to the onslaught of harsh environmental forces – crowds and motor vehicles, fluorescent lights and sickening perfumes – because without this openness, how would we ever taste the sweetness of crisp mountain air on a cool breeze? How would we ever feel the gentle prickle of a lady bug’s legs as we permit her to meander up our arm while returning her to her natural habitat, simply because we cannot bear to watch her wither under the harsh and grey fluorescent lights we subject ourselves to?

How could we go on without these moments, these sensations?

We could not.

We refuse.

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