As I thought about horrible experiences in my past to share, I realized that my experiences had to do solely with how I was affected by what other family members went through.
Do I even have a life of my own? I have a personality, thoughts, free will, and yet, why do I feel like a consistent background character in the troubled lives of others?
When I was about eight or nine years old, I participated in La Sierra University’s production of The Sound of Music, playing Gretel Von Trapp. The dancing, singing, and having fun was amazing.
They wanted a poster for the production, a keepsake. On the day we took the photos, I was wearing what I always wore, my dark pink sports tank top and multicolored shorts. I remember being in the theory room standing in front of a fake curtain. I remember the man taking the photo. He looked fresh out of college. He was nice. When he showed me the photo, I didn’t think much of how I appeared, just that my face and name would be on a poster.
A week later, we were at the cast party, around a bonfire, heating up smores and playing a game. The woman who played Maria said that the posters were ready and gave each and every one of us one. We were all excited, and I was extra excited.
I scanned the photos for my name. I didn’t see it. “It’s okay, just look again,” I told myself. I still didn’t see it. I double-checked the back side, triple-checked, quadruple-checked. I got the others to check theirs. Not there. I wasn’t there. The Gretel from the other cast was there. The Von Trapp children were there, even the nuns were there. I was gone. They forgot me.
This felt big to me.
How small of a background character do you have to be to be forgotten in something like that? Something where everybody has to be included?
It makes sense. I don’t have any scars. I wear the same thing everyday. I spread myself thin among friendships, and I’m introverted. I have a generic haircut. I’m your basic background character, living the life of others, but still so selfishly consumed in my endless runny-nose of thoughts.
Standing out is important to me because of tiny memories like that. I try to change myself to stand out just enough that I’m not considered irrelevant, but not so much that I don’t feel like myself. My mom calls it the persistent drive for autonomy. I call it disorienting.
Listening in on sermons, it’s common to hear the phrase “come as you are,” especially in an Adventist congregation. God accepts you. The real you. You don’t have to dress up if you don’t feel like it. I’m picky though; I can’t stand being unable to label myself.
Maybe I need to stop thinking about my appearance when I hear that phrase, but rather think about the peace inside of me. Or the rage inside of me.
Maybe who I am is the calmness I feel when I soak in the sun, or the enthusiasm I feel on a volleyball court. Maybe who I am is the drive I feel when I’m angry or the purpose I feel when I help out. Maybe who I am isn’t who I appear to be or who I think I am, but rather who God recognizes me to be.
Human.
Beautiful.
In the background of the universe, but so deeply immersed in the life it offers.
Kiri Kritzinger is the youngest of four children and loves volleyball, writing, history, and art. She is a proud daughter of her two amazing parents.