My middle child took great pains today to look like a basketball player. He literally changed outfits all morning trying to find the right ensemble. And in the end, he felt like a superstar.
Which makes me think.
How much time do I spend trying to put everything together - right smile, right clothes, right words - so that I can play the part? Who am I trying to fool, anyway? I don't have my stuff together. And I certainly don't want to be unapproachable because other people think I do have my stuff together, because I wanted them to think I do, even though I don't.
I want to be me. A mess. A growing, changing, becoming-less-messy mess, but still. A mess, just the same. And I want other people who are messy to know that I'm ok with their mess, and that I'll enter into that with them.
Let's be messy, People. Together.
Which makes me think.
How much time do I spend trying to put everything together - right smile, right clothes, right words - so that I can play the part? Who am I trying to fool, anyway? I don't have my stuff together. And I certainly don't want to be unapproachable because other people think I do have my stuff together, because I wanted them to think I do, even though I don't.
I want to be me. A mess. A growing, changing, becoming-less-messy mess, but still. A mess, just the same. And I want other people who are messy to know that I'm ok with their mess, and that I'll enter into that with them.
Let's be messy, People. Together.
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