Being Gingerbreadmen

I would love to say I stopped right here and listened...but I didn't. I ignored the questions. I tried to push my doubts aside and instead of listening, I compared myself with what other people were doing. I held my life up to what I thought my parents wanted, and to what my siblings had done before me. According to all of them; I was right on track. So everything must be okay...right? ...Not exactly.
When I couldn't stand it anymore, and finally had the guts to acknowledge some of these doubts, I found myself asking these people I was comparing myself to, if what I had wanted was right. If my definition of responsibility was true. Asking those I had using as track markers if what I was doing was best; I subtly begged them for an answer as to why I was so miserably. In response, I was casually awarded with a, "don't worry, you'll get used to it." or a, "you just can't handle it."
Basically, a GIANT label that said; "WEAKLING" was gingerly adhered to my forehead. By peers, professors, family, friends...anyone who would listen to me or anyone who looked successful. Maybe I was weak. I did break you know...I asked...I questioned. I doubted the cookie-cutter gingerbread men who claimed to be the picture of Responsibility. The mainstream "successful" people at college or work, who were older and "more experienced".
But soon I discovered their deep, dark secret. It was terrifying; because I found it first deep inside myself. As my fingers began turning into spicy aromatic bread, and the first icing buttons appeared on my torso. I began noticing it first in my relationships. They were corroding around me...I was not the same. But I didn't get the hint here either;I blamed it on being busy and moved on. "I'm growing up, life just changes." I told myself. It's true, I was changing. I now stank of ginger wherever I went and a sweet, red bow-tie was slowly tightening its grip around my neck.
I was becoming more like them. More like the "Responsibles". That is what I wanted...right?
Then a new symptom appeared. This one shook me to my spice-ridden core. I had always had an extensive vocabulary; but now it was being dominated by two tiny words.

ME...and...I.

"How could this happen?" I asked myself in disbelief. "NO, no, no, no, NO!!!" I shouted. But no one heard; because I was the only one around.
The secret of the gingerbread men was...Selfishness.
I could see it now on every one of them. I could smell in on myself. They claimed to be responsible; to be growing up. But the trait that came to define them was characteristic trait of childishness itself.
The child who won't share. The kid who screams, "Gimmee that!". It's all part of the selfishness scam. The one that says you will be happy if you can please yourself. The goal in life is to get everything you want, it whispers. Now I see the emerging adults (of all ages), who call themselves responsible, as nothing more than children who use big words and have mastered the art of backyard bullying!
Well, I had had enough. My whole image of "success" and "adulthood" came crashing down. I yanked and my red bow-tie again and again. I came of with a snap and I threw it to the ground.
"No more!" I shouted, as I stomped on my royal icing accessory. "It's all a lie!" I sank to my knees as the red sugar melted into the mud and stained my hands pink.

So there I was.
A broken girl; bear necked and pink fingered, on my knees in the mud. The remains of a "Weakling" label still present on my cinnamon, tear-streaked face.

Appalled at the idea of joining the masses, I refused a gingerbread identity.

I now desired something different, something truly beautiful, and profoundly hopeful...Change.

This is where it all begins...the pursuit of something more. This is where my story starts...