There’s a box in my garage that makes me feel like an idiot.
I went out there, fishing around for old photographs and found some white, innocuous looking paper that was riddled with evidence of my dramatic, self-centered youth.
Lately I’ve been feeling pretty good about myself. I like to say that I’m just a sinner and nothing good comes from me, but I sort of forget that when people pat me on the back. I start thinking that I’m on the right track, that I’ve arrived, and I climb on my pedestal and tap dance for applause. I have wise words and brilliance untapped.
Yesterday I reading old emails from my Senior summer in high school that I found in the box. They are embarrassing and I have no idea why I kept them. They are also hilarious.
Now I have hard evidence that I was obsessed with myself at 18. I’m sure all of my antics and friendships were self-serving…and for a minute I wanted to shred the ghost of my past that I had found, but now I’m embracing it.
It’s hard to embrace the fact that you are a moron, but it’s only then that you can have fun. I have a class reunion coming up, and it would be easy to freak out, go on a diet, and pass out my resume. It’s so tempting to want to burst through the doors with a perfume that announces, “I have arrived, I am awesome, you may all worship me!”
Here’s what I’ve learned since high school; making people think you’re cool is very hard work, and no one needs a new wooden idol to worship. People need to be loved. So, I’m going to show up with my baby pudge and hug everyone I can get my hands on.
Loving people means freedom.