So what has been going on lately? A lot.
I have been forming many a post in my head and I have yet to write them down. Why? I think it has been part of my frustrating life long procrastination in the quest for perfection. Good old over-achiever crap.
So, let's just write, eh?
Coming up to the "twenty year high school reunion" and I have been looking at myself lately,... and not recognizing myself.
Sure part of it is the weight and the hair and the new glasses, but a lot of it is very much internal.
Every now and then I come face to face with the fact that I am not who I seem to be. At least to myself. I have had several points in my life where I have been struck in the face by how my image of myself differs from what others see. Now I know that some of this is classic low self-esteem and an underestimation of my own abilities and talents. I have several amazing friends in my life who have shoved my own awesomeness under my nose when necessary. This has, for the most part, worked wonders in forcing me to witness the reality of who I am.
So far so good, huh? She gets a better image of who she is, she learns that she is a fabulous person, she stops moping around and starts to live life, right? All good, right?
Then, I get blind-sided again.
Recently I was reminded, with vigour and love, that one woman in particular, whose opinion I respect, whose talents I admire, whose ideas and bravery I try to emulate, thinks of me as being on par with a specific fictional character. An association which, upon first hearing of it, had me gobsmacked.
Not for anything ugly or unfortunate. I also admire this character and I have recently devoured a new book with her in it and I still love her.
I just don't, see it.
I wish I could. I wish I could see what other people see in me sometimes. I wish I could step outside of myself and get a peek at what my friends see. They like me, they admire me, they see me as a worthy person.
And I love them, I do! I admire them, I am awed by their passion, their vision, their adventures, but they do puzzle me in seeing what I cannot.
Maybe it is like photographs? The close-up glamour-type ones that always look odd to me. I figured out that for most of them it was because my mole was on the "wrong" side of my face. I've spent my whole life seeing my mole on the left. In a photograph it stares at me on the right.
Maybe I need to decode the mole of the rest of me to be able to see myself outside of the mirror?
Right *now* I need to see the inside of my eyelids. But that is just the distraction maneuover I traditionally drag out at pensive moments.
Sigh. Lights out.
Yours, reflectingly,
Ekatarina
So, let's just write, eh?
Coming up to the "twenty year high school reunion" and I have been looking at myself lately,... and not recognizing myself.
Sure part of it is the weight and the hair and the new glasses, but a lot of it is very much internal.
Every now and then I come face to face with the fact that I am not who I seem to be. At least to myself. I have had several points in my life where I have been struck in the face by how my image of myself differs from what others see. Now I know that some of this is classic low self-esteem and an underestimation of my own abilities and talents. I have several amazing friends in my life who have shoved my own awesomeness under my nose when necessary. This has, for the most part, worked wonders in forcing me to witness the reality of who I am.
So far so good, huh? She gets a better image of who she is, she learns that she is a fabulous person, she stops moping around and starts to live life, right? All good, right?
Then, I get blind-sided again.
Recently I was reminded, with vigour and love, that one woman in particular, whose opinion I respect, whose talents I admire, whose ideas and bravery I try to emulate, thinks of me as being on par with a specific fictional character. An association which, upon first hearing of it, had me gobsmacked.
Not for anything ugly or unfortunate. I also admire this character and I have recently devoured a new book with her in it and I still love her.
I just don't, see it.
I wish I could. I wish I could see what other people see in me sometimes. I wish I could step outside of myself and get a peek at what my friends see. They like me, they admire me, they see me as a worthy person.
And I love them, I do! I admire them, I am awed by their passion, their vision, their adventures, but they do puzzle me in seeing what I cannot.
Maybe it is like photographs? The close-up glamour-type ones that always look odd to me. I figured out that for most of them it was because my mole was on the "wrong" side of my face. I've spent my whole life seeing my mole on the left. In a photograph it stares at me on the right.
Maybe I need to decode the mole of the rest of me to be able to see myself outside of the mirror?
Right *now* I need to see the inside of my eyelids. But that is just the distraction maneuover I traditionally drag out at pensive moments.
Sigh. Lights out.
Yours, reflectingly,
Ekatarina