Not the First Pick

2006 October - My first therapy dog, Lilly

“You weren’t our first choice.”

Those words landed like a knife—sharp, unexpected, and impossible to ignore.

A nurse I worked with said them to me after I’d already been in my role for a few months. I remember swallowing hard, choosing silence, unsure how to respond. I was 25, trying to build a life that felt more balanced—working closer to home so I could spend more time with my daughter and less time on the road.

Looking back now, I’m about the same age she was when she said it. And I still can’t imagine a situation where I would say those words to someone.

Not like that.

Not in a way that cuts.

At the time, I didn’t have the perspective I do now. I didn’t understand that sometimes the things people say aren’t really about you at all. They come from their own insecurities, their own wounds, their own internal struggles.

Still, knowing that now doesn’t erase the sting I felt then.

Because I carried it.

For years.

It confirmed something I had already begun to believe about myself—that I wasn’t enough. That I should aim low, expect less, and be grateful for whatever I was given because I wasn’t someone people would choose first.

When negativity was spoken over me, it didn’t bounce off.

It settled.

Like morning dew on grass—quietly, consistently, covering everything.

Recently, I watched a documentary about Forrest Gump. I’ve seen the movie countless times, but this time something stood out that I hadn’t fully appreciated before.

Tom Hanks wasn’t the first choice for the role.

In fact, several well-known actors were considered before him. John Travolta, Bill Murray, and Chevy Chase were all considered before Hanks.

But Tom Hanks became Forrest Gump.

His performance didn’t just fill the role—it defined it. It became something unforgettable.

The narrator said something that stopped me:

“Sometimes the best casting happens because everyone else says ‘no’ first.”

That thought lingered.

How many times is that true in life?

How many times are we so focused on not being chosen first that we miss the bigger picture—that maybe we were chosen right?

As I thought about that, another memory came to mind.

My first Golden Retriever was not a well-bred dog at all. She was simply too much for someone else to handle, so they rehomed her with me.

Lilly was a scaredy-cat. Fireworks terrified her. Thunderstorms sent her diving for cover. Real estate signs were suspicious, and a paper sign flapping on a neighborhood stop sign was, in her mind, a full-blown threat. As the wind whipped it back and forth, she was certain we were under attack.

But I faithfully took her to training.

Over time, she became my first therapy dog and a marvelous companion for our family.

She was loyal, faithful, smart, and loving. More importantly, she became the springboard into what would eventually become my purpose. Through her, I discovered the incredible power dogs have to create connection, bring comfort, and open doors that otherwise would have remained closed.

She also changed me.

Because she didn't come with an easy button.

She required patience, creativity, consistency, and a willingness to keep working when progress felt slow. She challenged me to become a better trainer. She taught me how to communicate more clearly, think differently, and celebrate small victories.

If I had been looking through a list of dogs, I probably would not have chosen her first.

But looking back now, I can't imagine choosing any other dog.

Maybe that's another lesson life teaches us.

Sometimes what we overlook becomes exactly what we need.

Sometimes the dog nobody wanted changes the course of your life.

Sometimes the person who wasn't the first choice becomes the perfect choice.

Maybe being overlooked, passed by, or labeled "not the first choice" isn't rejection in the way we think it is.

Maybe it's redirection.

Maybe it's refinement.

Maybe it's preparation.

Because the truth is, not being someone's first choice doesn't determine your value.

And it certainly doesn't determine your impact.

So, I look back on that moment—the words that once cut so deeply—and I see it differently now.

Not as a verdict.

But as a beginning.

Because sometimes the ones who weren't chosen first are the very ones who leave the most lasting mark.

Sandy