If you wrote your life's story, what pieces would you intentionally skip? I know you have them. I have several blank spaces, thank you. They are chunks of life that I'd often rather see slide away into the nether regions of the universe and out of memory. At least, I used to.
I'm finding that I'm feeling more and more comfortable in my own skin of quirkiness and tragedy. After all, most of those blank spaces are filled with my embarrassing quirks or heart-wrenching tragedy. You see, I'd prefer that you not know my mother has a mental illness or that my heart was broken by the man who told me he loved me but wished I'd lose another 30 pounds or that I used to keep a set of children's encyclopedias in the bathroom for that special reading.
Then there is the flip side. I realized today that I am a blank space. I think of all the people I've come in contact with in my life and the moments we've shared. In the long run, no matter how beautiful or life-changing or heartbreaking or disastrous those moments were, they're now blank spaces in our biographies.
Part of me finds this sad, not because I think everyone who has ever crossed paths with me needs to shout it from the rooftops. No, I think it's sad because I wonder what we're losing out on. How would the world—and our lives—be different if we actually embraced our quirks and tragedies? What would happen if dropped the facades? Can you imagine the freedom in our relationships?
I'm not ready to be an entirely open book. There are, after all, many blank spaces that will follow me to my grave. But there are far more blank spaces that are testaments to my humanity. At the end of the day, that humanity is what we all have in common.
I'm finding that I'm feeling more and more comfortable in my own skin of quirkiness and tragedy. After all, most of those blank spaces are filled with my embarrassing quirks or heart-wrenching tragedy. You see, I'd prefer that you not know my mother has a mental illness or that my heart was broken by the man who told me he loved me but wished I'd lose another 30 pounds or that I used to keep a set of children's encyclopedias in the bathroom for that special reading.
Then there is the flip side. I realized today that I am a blank space. I think of all the people I've come in contact with in my life and the moments we've shared. In the long run, no matter how beautiful or life-changing or heartbreaking or disastrous those moments were, they're now blank spaces in our biographies.
Part of me finds this sad, not because I think everyone who has ever crossed paths with me needs to shout it from the rooftops. No, I think it's sad because I wonder what we're losing out on. How would the world—and our lives—be different if we actually embraced our quirks and tragedies? What would happen if dropped the facades? Can you imagine the freedom in our relationships?
I'm not ready to be an entirely open book. There are, after all, many blank spaces that will follow me to my grave. But there are far more blank spaces that are testaments to my humanity. At the end of the day, that humanity is what we all have in common.
Comments
I think we're on the same page...er...blank page.