It’s my birthday and despite all efforts to the contrary, I’m growing up (I’m also growing out and in some areas I’m imploding, but let’s not focus on the negative here).
Since I am notorious for taking the most difficult route to learn a life lesson, I thought I’d report that I have upped my grade point average.
Poor yourself a big coffee; we’re about to get philosophical. It’s time to review life lessons as another candle gets added to my gluten-free cake. This is what I’ve amassed so far: when you put yourself first, you are actually helping to make the world a better place – so long as you put your best self forward (quick, somebody put that on a T-shirt).
In my life it seems my biggest challenge is also my greatest strength: I am nice. Despite transfusions of tough love and a few transplants of hard advice, it’s difficult to rewire my brain.
Somewhere along my path, I got confused about the difference between assertiveness and aggression. I mistook peaceful resolution as the ultimate solution and many times I have done so at the cost of my own integrity. No wonder I have wrestled anxiety to the ground and tapped the mat more times than I care to admit.
I can’t blame this on being born female. Ovaries didn’t make me nice; “please disease” did. And I’ve been infected for a long time. Oddly enough, my critics who say, “stop being so nice” are also the ones who are most offended when I am assertive enough to say that all important word: no.
The truth is, I am nice and I do care too much, and the people who love me actually love that about me. And so they should.
Lately, I have been reminded more times than I care to admit that people are not always what they seem. Let me rephrase that: people are exactly what they seem – if we allow ourselves to really see them.
What’s the expression? If a person shows you how they really are, believe them. Yet now I realize once you know the truth, well, then it’s a choice whether or not you continue to be duped. I am making smarter choices. Don’t mistake my kindness for blindness.
When I say I’m growing up, I should probably say I’m evolving. I’m gradually morphing into a person who sees the world less through rose coloured glasses and more through bifocals of truth.
Maybe it is an age thing. Wisdom and experience doesn’t mean you stop caring, it just helps filter the drama faster. That is sexy. Scars and tissue. Love and loss. Friend and foe. It turns out nobody is keeping score.
You could say I’ve put on my big girl pants, but I would likely slap you for such a remark. First of all, I find that kind of phrasing derogatory. When a woman finds the confidence to speak her mind, I fail to see how or why that action relates to my underwear.
Secondly, make fun of the size of my Fruit of the Looms and I’ll give you a wedgie so raw you’ll pray for panty lines. Are we clear? (I said that nicely).
As I blow out my candles, I know I have everything I wished for and more. Hard lessons make for a kind heart. I’m okay with that.