The IQ Test

So about a month ago, I did something uncharacteristic for a guy like me — I took an IQ test.

And fuck, I thought I crushed it.
I never felt so good about a test I took while sitting down.

I know IQ tests aren’t the be-all, end-all.
Even my hero Neil deGrasse Tyson would scoff at the idea of measuring a person’s worth with an IQ test.
And Dr. Tyson, if by some miracle you ever read this — thank you for that.
It means a lot.

But still, I thought I aced that thing. I thought I broke the test.
I understood all the questions. I knew what needed to be done.
And I thought I’d done it.

Then the results came in today — and, alas, no.

For a minute I actually thought the delay in getting my results was because I’d blown the machine up.
Like maybe the people grading it were staring at the screen saying,
“Hold up… what do we do with this guy? The system’s smoking.”

But no — I just didn’t get the email.
Probably returned to sender because someone typed my address wrong and didn’t care enough to fix it when they got the mailer-daemon message.

---

But it’s not the score that bugs me the most.
It’s that I was, again, out in the ocean looking for validation — hoping that if I could just show a spark,
something that proved I was special,
then maybe someone out there would believe I’m capable of being more than I am.

Because being some weirdo karate teacher is great — and I love it — but is it wrong to ask for more?
Is it wrong to ask, “Do I have any other talents?”

A guy like Neil deGrasse Tyson — he knew who he was at a young age.
He was so special that, when he was in high school, his hero Carl Sagan called him, invited him to his office, showed him around campus, and even gave him his home phone number when he put him on the bus to go home.

Isn’t that wonderful?
To know your worth at such a young age?

---

So here I am, disappointed that I still have to scratch at doors, hoping for some kind of recognition —
not to boost my ego, but to remind me that I’m capable.
To maybe open a few doors toward the places I want to go.

And I know a 12-minute online test will never define me,
but when your confidence gets rocked like that, it takes a second to find your footing again.

So to all my new friends: don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.
But if I’m not blowing up your comments and chats with my usual love, I’m sorry — it’s me, not you.

You’re great. You’re the best. I love you all.

I just need to find a few things I can do — read a book, learn a little something more, reflect on my failure.
I mean, that compost bin’s not going to install itself under the sink,
and I’ve still got my wife’s closet to finish.

A dope like me can figure those things out.

I don’t even know what there is to fact check here — maybe my Neil deGrasse Tyson stuff?
But what’s the point?