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Twenty years ago, I was at a party, talking to a man whose name I have long since forgotten. Sometimes I think this man came into my life for the sole purpose of telling me this story, which has delighted and inspired me ever since.
The story he told me was about his younger brother, who was trying to be an artist; it was a real story about how brave, creative, and trusting his brother was. For the purpose of this story, let's call the little brother Little Brother.
Little Brother, a young painter, went to France to surround himself with beauty and inspiration. He lived on the cheap, painted every day, visited museums, traveled to picturesque places, bravely spoke to everyone he met, and showed his work to anyone who would look at it. One afternoon, he struck up a conversation at a cafe with a group of charming young people, who turned out to be some fancy nobles. They took a 1iking to Little Brother and invited him to a party that weekend in a castle in the Loire Valley. They said this was going to be the party of the year. It would be attended by the rich and famous and by several crowned heads of Europe. Best of all, it was a masquerade ball(化妆舞会), where nobody would hesitate in their spending on the costumes(特殊场合穿的套服). "Dress up," they said, "and join us!"
Excited, Little Brother worked all week on a costume that he was certain would be highly impressive. He held back on neither the details nor the imagination of this creation. Then he rented a car and drove three hours to the castle. He changed into his costume in the car and went up the castle steps. Little Brother entered the ballroom, head held high.
Upon arrival, he immediately realized his mistake.
This was indeed a costume party — his new friends had not misled him there — but he had missed one detail in translation: This was a themed costume party. The theme was "a medieval court." and Little Brother was dressed as a lobster(龙虾).
All around him, the wealthy and beautiful were dressed in fancy clothes, wearing sparkling jewels. Little Brother, on the other hand, was wearing a red coat, red tights, red ballet slippers, and giant red claws. Also, his face was painted red. And he was the only American in the room, too.
He stood at the top of the steps for one long, frightful moment. Running away in shame seemed like the easiest response. But he didn't run. Somehow, he found his determination. He'd come this far, after all. He'd worked really hard to make this costume, and he was proud of it. He took a deep breath and walked onto the dance floor.
As he moved into the crowd, a silence fell. The dancing stopped. The other guests gathered around Little Brother. Finally someone asked him what on earth he was.
Little Brother bowed deeply and announced, "I am the court lobster."
Then: laughter.
Not ridicule — just joy. They loved him. They loved his sweetness, his weirdness(怪诞), his giant red claws, and his skinny legs in his bright tights. He made the party. Little Brother even ended up dancing with the queen of Belgium.
This is how you must do it, people.
At some point or another, I have created something in my life that did make me feel like I was the guy who just walked into a fancy ball wearing a homemade lobster costume. But you must stubbornly walk into that room, and you must hold your head high. Never apologize for it, never explain it away, and never be ashamed of it. You did your best with what you knew, and you worked with what you had, in the time you were given. You were invited, you showed up, and you simply cannot do more than that.
They might throw you out — then again, they might not. The ballroom is often more welcoming and supportive than you could ever imagine. You might end up dancing with royalty.
Or you might just end up having to dance alone in the corner with your big, ugly red claws waving in the empty air.
That's fine too. Sometimes it's like that. What you absolutely must not do is walk out. Otherwise yon will miss the party, and that would be a pity because — please believe me — we did not come all this great distance, and make all this great effort, only to miss the party at the last moment.