My T-Rex Kills Your Brontosaurus
Cordelia Note: While I reconnect with my inner Cordelia-ness this summer (and recover from some wicked burnout), I’ll be re-running some older posts that a) some of you new folks may not have seen yet, and b) I think are awesome and could stand to be seen again.
Like this one…
The Tyrannosaurus Rex was the pimp of the dinosaur world.
He took names, he called the shots, he ruled the show. Which dinosaur got to be the logo for Jurassic Park? Which dinosaur do most kids want to see first at the science museum? Which dinosaur’s name (rex) actually means “king” in Latin?
That’s right: the mother-effing-T-Rex.
Because he is the incarnation of awesome killer monster dinosaur power.
But you know what? If a T-Rex existed today, he’d be lying on a couch in a psychiatrist’s office talking about his feelings of inadequacy despite of all the fame and glory he gets. Why?
Because T-Rexes Have Tiny Little Arms
For all their razor-toothed, huge-headed terrifyingness, the T-Rex has one genealogical (and rather hilarious) flaw: He has stumpy, useless little flaily arms that The Powers That Be had to have included solely for the purposes of amusing irony.
This means that, in addition to being the target of mean playground ridicule, these kings of the dinosaur world have all sorts of things they CAN’T do.
They can’t do pushups:
They can’t give each other high fives:
They can’t adorably express how much they love their significant other:
It’s enough to give any dino a complex.
But you don’t read about these things in the history books. Because—aside from the fact that pushups, high fives and relationships did not exist in the dinosaur era—T-Rexes did the one thing they were designed for very well: they killed things, and they killed them dead. They were predators, and they preyed like nobody’s business.
Brontosauruses, on the other hand, were physically stunning dinos—massively large, tall as fuck, and with all four legs perfectly proportioned. They were walking, symmetrical mountains. And they got killed. They got killed dead—by T-Rexes. Because the gimpy little arms didn’t matter, anymore than the Brontos’ impressive heft did. Brontosauruses were made to eat leafy things. T-Rexes were made to eat things that eat leafy things.
What’s the Lesson Here, Cordelia?
The lesson is this:
a) I want any and all of the t-shirts above, and will gladly accept them as early Christmas presents; and
b) We are all designed with certain talents, and certain shortcomings.
You can’t compare your skills against someone else’s, because they’re different. All that matters is that you do what you were designed to do—and you do the everloving shit out of it. (Tweet!)
You may hate your social awkwardness, but you can write one mean piece of copy that magically makes total strangers leap to do your bidding. That’s amazing. A million aspiring writers would kill for that talent.
You may not be the prettiest belle at the ball, but you’ve got the snarkiest, sharpest sense of humor of anyone you know—which is exactly what your future prince charming is looking for in his princess.
You may not know how to run a marathon, or juggle, or have any idea what the latest trending meme is on Twitter. But you do what you do like a boss.
And that is all that matters.
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