I got to my car yesterday to find a note on the window. You know what window notes mean, someone ran into my car while it was parked. Sure enough, there was a red mark on the bumper. Of course, the note ends with (Not the red mark). So, of course, I had two accidents during the day while my car was parked… how prefect is that?
What was great though, was that I really didn’t care. I’ll call the woman back, only to let her know not to worry about it.
I saw that mark and just thought, no big deal. The car still runs, and now it doesn’t matter if I bump the wall while pulling into the garage. That mark also means that I really don’t have to worry about the odd ding or scratch I get. I plan to keep the car until it dies, or until Rachel kills it while she learns to drive… 12 years from now, whichever comes last. So, who cares about a mark here or there?
On the way home I really realized how freeing it is to have an imperfection or two.
I spent middle school trying to be perfect. Trying to fit in, be liked, and make no mistakes. Needless to say, I failed miserably and had very few friends.
It wasn’t until the middle of high school that I finally decided that I didn’t care about my flaws. If someone was going to be my friend, it would be because of the normal, weird person that I am.
Tonight I was at Potbelly I had the following conversation:
Allison: You’re dressed like a dork.
Me: Huh? I’m wearing a loose collared shirt, how am I dressed like a dork?
Allison: Maybe just a little tonight, but with the sweaters you usually wear you look like a dork… Why are you looking at me like that? Since when has your being weird ever bothered you before?
She was right of course, my being weird is almost a trade mark at this point. If someone doesn’t think I’m a bit of a clown, willing to do almost anything wacked out and weird, I’m a bit hurt and I try to make sure I am weird to that person sometime soon.
At the time though, I was a bit hurt. I really do sometimes try to dress casually but nicely. I hadn’t realized just how flawed I still am at my own clothing.
Allison’s words reminded me, yet again, that I’m flawed… just like my car. So what if I get a scratch on my car, it’ll just be one of many. What do I care who gives me an odd look because of the way I look or something I’ve said, it’s simply my reality.
I’m flawed and I love the freedom I get from not having to try and be perfect… How about you?