Faithful Ones, I have had brain flatulence that spans the width of this county and it also goes at least as deep. It's not that I don't want to write, it's just that my brain is on a union strike and does not want to give in to the demands I'm placing on it every day. I keep being distracted by things I need to devote myself wholly to, like this fruit fly situation and how should I decorate the front porch for Halloween without having to buy anything new and OHMYGOSH ARE THESE PEOPLE FOR REAL RIGHT NOW LOOK AT THIS KITCHEN NOT TO MENTION YOUR ROOM WHICH I CANNOT EVEN WALK INTO I'M NEVER BUYING YOU ANOTHER PIECE OF CLOTHING EVER AGAIN AND I MEAN NEVER.
Jon tells me I should live out what I say when I write, and I'm all like I KNOW IT BRO. This presents a problem in and of itself, since I cannot seem to rid myself of my own insecurities, so then I just can't even write about anything. Other than the fruit flies. #thestruggleisreal
So I tried to outline exactly what I'm insecure about. Y'all. That is an extremely long list. I had no idea that I was such a insecure person, except that maybe I did and that's why this blog makes sense to me in the first place. And hopefully to you, too, even if you can't relate to all the things. (There are a lot of things.) The funny thing is that when other people tell me the things they are insecure about (because we all are, right?) I look at them real funny and say I can't imagine you being insecure about that so just stop right now. Easier said than done, as I can attest. But from the outside looking in, insecurities are almost silly, because you know the person you're talking to is so much stronger than that.
One: I put on my yoga pants this morning and they were tight around the waist. TIGHT. YOGA PANTS SHOULD NEVER BE TIGHT AROUND THE WAIST. They're yoga pants, for crying out loud. It's called spandex and forgiving. But my little ole distracted mind just latched right on to that idea, I mean, could we not have had a laser focus during AP Biology, man? No. We must have a laser focus on too-tight yoga pants and then think about them all day. (To be clear, I squeaked through AP Bio with a C, dashing my hopes and dreams of ever being a doctor so I could make lots of money.) I feel like when I walk I might put a hole in the floor.
Two: Seventh-grade math. Fine. Seventh grade.
Three: I admitted to a friend today that I have zero aptitude at the diabolical game Tangrams. I stare at those little shapes and eventually start thinking about front porches. (Which would require the above position as a doc to do all the stuff I want to do. Bring on the Ben and Jerry's.) This makes me feel sad, because my brains says "ha! and what are you good at? NOT WRITING BLOG POSTS" and then I go about my day feeling small and sad and bad at Tangrams, which means I'm a dumb-dumb and bad at life. (There is a lot of stretching going on here.)
Four: I am borderline introvert/extrovert and while some situations make me feel totally comfortable (lunch with my church aerobics ladies--how old would you be if you did not know how old you were? These girls are SPUNKY), others make me feel gimpy because I am three seconds away from bolting from the dinner I've been invited to because I don't know a single body. (This makes my armpits sweat, adding to the "hi nice to meet you shake my tyrannosaurus rex hand because my armpits are sweaty and I must keep my elbows by my side" issue.) Small talk is sometimes good, sometimes painful. I know some social wonderpeople. I wish I was not gimpy.
Five: Perfection is my frenemy. I hate what is not perfect and love what is, but know I can't be, and besides, perfection takes a long time, and I was born impatient. I hate impatience. Internal struggle.
Maybe you have a list that is similar to mine, maybe yours looks entirely different. (Career? Money? Parenting? What other people think? You sound familiar. WE SHOULD TALK.)
I'll leave you with this. Read. Ponder. Speak up. Write. Email me.
We'll talk next week.
You are not your past. You are not what has happened to you. You are not your struggle. You are not someone else's opinion. You are not your fear or insecurity. You are loved, accepted and complete. You are the beloved. (hosea by jennifer rothschild)
I will trust in your unfailing love, my heart rejoices in your salvation.
I will sing unto the Lord for He has been good to me.