This weekend, I didn’t write a novel worth a Newbery Honor.
I didn’t beat a world record on juggling flaming swords.
I didn’t skydive, or anything else that involves falling towards Earth.
I didn’t wrestle a snake like a rough safari man.
I didn’t ride a mechanical bull, or any bull, for that matter.
I didn’t miraculously understand the meaning of life.
I didn’t paint a masterpiece, or have art even cross my mind.
I didn’t cook a meal worthy to serve a hobo.
I didn’t fashion a new style of clothes or jewelry.
I didn’t discover ancient dinosaur bones.
I didn’t dig up precious jewels, worth millions of dollars.
I didn’t discover a new chemical element.
I didn’t throw a Hollywood-style party, or even get out of my own home.
I didn’t build my own computer.
I didn’t become an internet sensation.
I didn’t star in a viral video, or even watch any.
I didn’t pick a lock, or even have a bobby pin anywhere near me.
I didn’t master the art of walking in heels.
I didn’t finish a book, or even read three lines.
I didn’t learn how to say “hello” in Russian.
I didn’t slam a door.
I didn’t smile.
I didn’t cry.

You didn’t know.