Last night, after a day that threw me curve ball after cheap shot after underhand, I offered a bizarre explanation of how I saw myself to Mr. C.
"I'm like a three legged horse that stays far enough in the shadows that everyone thinks I have that fourth leg. But when I step out, the wobble and hop-a-long show me for what I really am. I may look like one thing, but what I know is what I'm really not."
He found it amusing, but didn't see where I was coming from. Fortunately, this isn't the first rambling I've offered to him in the past ten years. And it's certainly not the only one involving my comparison being based off a farm animal.
Moo. Baaa. Nay. I blame Old MacDonald and his damn farm.
It's easy to get twisted up in what you think someone else sees when they look at you, or how you think someone else should see you. But if that's all that you're letting whittle inside your brain, you're missing living for yourself.
I don't know if it's a southernism. If being spoon-fed, then funnel-forced, the how's, why's and what's of a Southern Lady are what restrict me. If these notions are my constrictors or benefits. But I'm tired of feeling like that gimpy mare.
I stumble, quite frequently. I'm lost, even when I think I'm found, and I rarely know my left over right. But I'm working hard at getting there.
Doing my best, working towards my manna from heaven, and believing in myself (even when I have that derelict sitting on my shoulder whispering never-haves and never-wills in my ear).
It's just a matter of stepping out. Of looking for the right place to set my toe and cross the line. I'm inching toward something spectacular, you know. And so are you.