I'm Super Flawed
I don’t mean this in a self-deprecating way. I don’t say this to encourage compliments. I say this because it is entirely true and I am perfectly okay with that.
More than that, I could say the same about you and it would also be entirely true and I’d have to trust you to be okay with it. Of course, I won’t. The Smile Project has never been about calling anyone out and this blog has always been a forced opportunity for me to publicly reflect.
So let me then, reflect on this idea of being super flawed.
You know how when you’re watching a bad sci-fi movie (don’t tell me I’m the only one who went through that phase) and the rag-tag group of unlikely heroes decides to split up. Someone inevitably decides to go to the basement alone. It’s the whole “don’t open the door” thing we’ve seen a thousand times that, for some reason, keeps happening.
Me? I’ve been walking into metaphorical basements my entire life.
I’ve watched a million horror movies and I’ve judged the heck out of each character for every questionable decision but the second I find myself in my own nightmare, I return to the same actions – as if they’d have different consequences.
In a cemetery in England, Aldous Huxley is shaking in his grave yelling, “Rolling in the muck is not the best way of getting clean!!”
And somewhere in the movie of my own life, I’ve just walked into another basement, by myself, with no light, locked the door behind me, and broken my ankle all at the same time.
In my story? I’m the tragic hero who hasn’t realized hubris is my downfall. I’m the musical lead who – after my side kick has sung the most compelling and passionate song about soldiering on for the path of goodness – proceeds the opposite direction.
I’m impatient and irrational and sometimes even lazy. I’m oversensitive and hyper critical and maybe just a little dramatic. I think in extremes and am quick to blame others rather than owning my issues. I fall in love too quickly and hold onto hurt too deeply.
I raise my voice when I’m excited and barely choke out whispers when I’m hurt. I can be overflowing with the joy of clean bed sheets, but cry when I realize I forgot to pack a sports bra in my gym bag.
I’m a mess of contradictions and a contradiction of opposites.
And I finally think that’s okay.