A Guide to Self Acceptance -- A Four Act Exploration
Act One: A Quick Stabbing
“You know son, in my entire life, not one of my friends or family has liked you,” my mother said, in the same casual tone you might use when telling a stranger the time of day.
And look at the time; Jab-to-the-heart o’clock. I should have set an alarm.
It wasn’t even a heated discussion, but more of a, “catching up on current events,” sort of thing. But then who would hold back such a wonderful bon mot? Most reasonable folks, I'd imagine.
In a way, I sort of wish there had been some venom behind it. Perhaps if she intended to hurt me, I could just write it off as a bit of spiteful maneuvering. There was pity on her breath though, a lubricant that made the words easy for one to say, but quite violent to hear.
It was like a near-empty bottle who’s final drop sails down the pirates's throat, only to plunder his harbor at sun’s last breath.
Ahoy.
What’s so wrong with me? I like to consider myself a decent guy. Some others do as well. But there’s a whole lot of “everyone else” out there that I’ve never been a real favorite of. I’m a little different, sure. I can be a grilled cheese with cheese on the outside. I’ve been listening to a lot the Oscar Peterson Trio. But I’ve never murdered anyone. I’ve never even been wrongly accused of murder. Is everyone meant to be the same? Is it possible to dig deep down to your core, tear it all down, and rebuild whole new person?
No. All grilled cheese doesn’t need to be the same.
--
Act II: The Purpose of Socks
They say you, “can’t impress everyone.” Makes sense, but then I do question why we all desperately try to fit in all of the time. I vividly remember the last time my partner came down with something wicked in the lung. I dashed off to the pharmacy at who knows what hour, and you could say that my socks didn’t quite match. That’s if you wanted to put it mildly. I couldn’t miss the girl behind the counter fail to hold back a hefty snicker. But why? I’m a practical fellow. Man needs to run to store, feet are pre-attached but require shoes, and shoes are wildly incomplete without socks. Done. I got to the store. My lady-love rested comfortably that night.
But I was still judged. And yes, I know, it was a miniscule moment that only made me regret EVERY DECESION I’VE EVER MADE, for maybe a day or two. The point really hit home though: If we know we can’t please, or impress everyone, why do we so rarely allow our guard to lower? Why do we insist on putting that veneer up for absolutely everyone at all times? Are you even comfortable floating a noxious breeze from your butt region if your spouse is around? Perhaps only you and God/Buddha/Luke Skywalker are aware of your occasional flatulence?
Not likely.
Everyone knows that when you wear that slight grimace and twist your hip, that you’ve got gas. That fake smile you adorn yourself with is like Clark Kent while your rear end is screaming, “Hey! I’m Superman,” with a fart that likely destroyed Krypton.
Act III: Is All the Approval Seeking Worth It?
No.
Act IV: Goodbye to You
Dear Potential Critic,
I can’t even say that I’m sorry. I refuse, outright. How could I even begin to apologize for my mere existence? Exactly 0.00% of the people who have graced the outermost layer of this planet were actually given the option of being born.
That’s no people.
So if someone dares to simply appear in public in a manner that offends your sensitive notions of fashion and decency, remember: they didn’t get to choose to be themselves. So the least they should be offered is the opportunity to make the most of who they are, as they see fit. Thus, it seems that each of us here have a right to the lives that we lead. That means mismatching socks. That means old timey jazz while cleaning the house. Any weird thing that a person chooses is but a cookie in the cupboard of their own happiness. I say let them eat it. Eat it!
Regards,
Whoever I Choose to Be
“You know son, in my entire life, not one of my friends or family has liked you,” my mother said, in the same casual tone you might use when telling a stranger the time of day.
And look at the time; Jab-to-the-heart o’clock. I should have set an alarm.
It wasn’t even a heated discussion, but more of a, “catching up on current events,” sort of thing. But then who would hold back such a wonderful bon mot? Most reasonable folks, I'd imagine.
In a way, I sort of wish there had been some venom behind it. Perhaps if she intended to hurt me, I could just write it off as a bit of spiteful maneuvering. There was pity on her breath though, a lubricant that made the words easy for one to say, but quite violent to hear.
It was like a near-empty bottle who’s final drop sails down the pirates's throat, only to plunder his harbor at sun’s last breath.
Ahoy.
What’s so wrong with me? I like to consider myself a decent guy. Some others do as well. But there’s a whole lot of “everyone else” out there that I’ve never been a real favorite of. I’m a little different, sure. I can be a grilled cheese with cheese on the outside. I’ve been listening to a lot the Oscar Peterson Trio. But I’ve never murdered anyone. I’ve never even been wrongly accused of murder. Is everyone meant to be the same? Is it possible to dig deep down to your core, tear it all down, and rebuild whole new person?
No. All grilled cheese doesn’t need to be the same.
--
Act II: The Purpose of Socks
They say you, “can’t impress everyone.” Makes sense, but then I do question why we all desperately try to fit in all of the time. I vividly remember the last time my partner came down with something wicked in the lung. I dashed off to the pharmacy at who knows what hour, and you could say that my socks didn’t quite match. That’s if you wanted to put it mildly. I couldn’t miss the girl behind the counter fail to hold back a hefty snicker. But why? I’m a practical fellow. Man needs to run to store, feet are pre-attached but require shoes, and shoes are wildly incomplete without socks. Done. I got to the store. My lady-love rested comfortably that night.
But I was still judged. And yes, I know, it was a miniscule moment that only made me regret EVERY DECESION I’VE EVER MADE, for maybe a day or two. The point really hit home though: If we know we can’t please, or impress everyone, why do we so rarely allow our guard to lower? Why do we insist on putting that veneer up for absolutely everyone at all times? Are you even comfortable floating a noxious breeze from your butt region if your spouse is around? Perhaps only you and God/Buddha/Luke Skywalker are aware of your occasional flatulence?
Not likely.
Everyone knows that when you wear that slight grimace and twist your hip, that you’ve got gas. That fake smile you adorn yourself with is like Clark Kent while your rear end is screaming, “Hey! I’m Superman,” with a fart that likely destroyed Krypton.
Act III: Is All the Approval Seeking Worth It?
No.
Act IV: Goodbye to You
Dear Potential Critic,
I can’t even say that I’m sorry. I refuse, outright. How could I even begin to apologize for my mere existence? Exactly 0.00% of the people who have graced the outermost layer of this planet were actually given the option of being born.
That’s no people.
So if someone dares to simply appear in public in a manner that offends your sensitive notions of fashion and decency, remember: they didn’t get to choose to be themselves. So the least they should be offered is the opportunity to make the most of who they are, as they see fit. Thus, it seems that each of us here have a right to the lives that we lead. That means mismatching socks. That means old timey jazz while cleaning the house. Any weird thing that a person chooses is but a cookie in the cupboard of their own happiness. I say let them eat it. Eat it!
Regards,
Whoever I Choose to Be