Unique? Me? Let’s Talk About That
Ah, the infamous “What makes you unique?” question. The one that feels like being asked to juggle flaming torches when you’re barely holding onto a half-empty coffee. Job interviews thrive on it. Dating apps toss it around like confetti. But my most soul-crushing encounter with this question didn’t come from some polished recruiter or a bio claiming to be “spontaneous but serious.” No, it came from a kid. A child. Sticky with what I suspect was juice-box residue, wielding all the gravitas of Judge Judy on a Monday.
“What makes you special?” he asked, looking up at me with the intensity of someone about to hand down a life sentence.
“Special?” I echoed, blinking like I’d just been hit by a pop quiz on quantum mechanics. My brain promptly blue-screened, and for a good five seconds, I could hear the internal soundtrack of a Windows error message.
Now, I could’ve lied. I could’ve said, “I’m great at baking cookies” or “I know how to fold a fitted sheet without crying,” but instead, I just stood there — mouth open, brain running on fumes — while this pint-sized philosopher stared into my very soul, waiting for an answer.
Here’s the kicker: I still don’t have one. I’ve thought about it a lot since then, and I’ve realized something. Maybe I’m not unique.
No, wait, don’t cue the sad violin music just yet. It’s not a “woe is me, I’m a beige crayon in the box of life” moment. It’s more of a “maybe nobody really is” kind of revelation.
Let’s break it down. My favorite color? It’s brown. But not because I’m deeply in tune with earthy tones or have a poetic connection to the wilderness. Nope. It’s because a fictional character in a book described brown so beautifully, I decided, “Yep, that’s mine now.” Basically, I stole my favorite color from someone who doesn’t even exist.
Or take my sense of humor. People sometimes say I’m funny, but let’s be real — half my jokes are just recycled from memes, TV shows, or that one friend we all know who’s actually hilarious. If my humor were a car, it’d have “Pre-Owned” stamped on it.
And my personality? A complete “Build-A-Bear” operation. My hobbies, interests, and quirks? All cobbled together from people I thought were cooler than me. Hiking? Stolen from a friend who climbs mountains while I wheeze on speed bumps. Monochrome outfits? Blame a YouTuber who convinced me I’d look effortlessly chic. Spoiler alert: I just look like I’ve been lost in a grayscale filter.
So, yeah, I’m a patchwork quilt of influences. A walking Pinterest board of borrowed ideas and half-baked attempts at originality. But isn’t that true for most of us? We’re all a bit like magpies — picking up shiny things along the way and calling them ours.
The real problem isn’t us; it’s the question itself. Asking someone to sum up their uniqueness in one snappy answer is like asking a cat why it knocked over your glass of water. There’s no simple explanation, and everyone leaves the conversation confused.
If that sticky kid came back today and asked me again, I’d probably panic all over again. Do I say, “I make a killer grilled cheese”? Or go with “I can parallel park in one try, but only when nobody’s watching”? Neither is groundbreaking, but hey, they’re honest.
But maybe, just maybe, the point is this: we don’t need a single answer. We’re not one thing. We’re the sum of every stolen quirk, every borrowed idea, every weird little experience that made us who we are.
And if that juice-box warrior doesn’t like my answer? I’ll just hit him back with, “What makes you special, buddy?” Because let’s see how he likes being on the hot seat.
