Some days, I wish I were in a different skin. If I looked different, surely things would be easier. People would be more receptive, would value my opinions and my work. Wouldn’t they?
I wouldn’t have to prove my worth, my credentials would be sufficient. I’d actually have kudos bestowed upon me. I’d be respected before I had to earn it. And life wouldn’t be met with critics thinking I got where I was with quotas instead of by merit.
And then I remember I am who I am and what I am. If I looked different, I wouldn’t be me.