In my blood I feel the bubbles burst There was a flash of fist, an eyebrow burst You've a lazy laugh and a red white shirt

When I look at myself in the mirror – I see opportunity for improvement. Perhaps it’s because I see past the skin and bones, past the frizzy hair, and the out-of-control eyebrows, past the smeared make-up and the freckles… When I look at myself in the mirror, I see what’s possible.

I see myself as a mother. Hair in a ponytail everyday, dark circles under my eyes, wondering when the last “adult” conversation was that I had – and when the next one might be.

I see myself as a better version of me. A girl who isn’t shy in a crowd of strangers, (and in fact sees a crowd of strangers as a crowd of friends she hasn’t met yet) a girl who has her shit together enough to keep her house clean, her finances in order, and her foot from soaring directly into her mouth every chance it gets. A girl who knows when to cuss and drink, and when to whisper. I see myself as a girl who knows herself well, and won’t compromise on being who she is.

But when I allow my eyes to focus again on what is actually in front of them…

I see just me.

Shy at parties, foot residing in mouth, disorderly, financially dysfunctional me.
And that’s when I begin to notice the frizzy hair, and the freckles, and the eyebrows… That’s when I really see all the imperfections that combine to make me me.
I wish I could say that I’m grateful. I admire, and envy those people who can acknowledge their imperfections and say – “that’s just me, and that’s okay”.
I guess this is all to say, sometimes – I wish I were different.

-g