The Mirror

We all have a mirror. Not the one in your bathroom or your compact. It’s the mirror in which we view ourselves.

Sometimes it feels like that mirror is stolen from the fun house at the local carnival. Inaccurate. Unflattering. Ridiculously flattering – how did that happen? In fact, most of the time it is painfully inaccurate reflecting our fears and covered in a filter of our past.

Why is it that the last ten pounds weigh the heaviest? It is like the first pounds we lost don’t matter. Our failures stare at us like we are looking in a magnifying mirror.

I consider myself fortunate. I am mostly a good person. I feel the small slights I have made against people as acutely as the slights made toward me. I am generally happy and project that into the world. I hate it when I hurt people because I am angry or thoughtless.

I am appalled by the “Karens” of the world and I am self-aware enough to not call myself “woke.” I consider myself an ally, but know that I don’t do enough. A sign in the front yard, a banner on my FaceBook or Twitter page isn’t enough. The small amount of money that I donate to human causes isn’t enough. I have the tough conversations and spout my righteous indignation. But it isn’t enough.

Maybe it is the filter that covers my mirror that makes me feel just inadequate enough. Never quite thin or beautiful enough. My excuse that I am brilliant and beautiful – if I were thin too, I would be insufferable is a tee-hee of a joke that doesn’t cover my insecurities. The truth is, I don’t know if I am brave enough to ever remove that filter completely and see the unvarnished me.

Is it just me or is it scary to think that you ARE good enough? Or worse – that this is as good as you get? I think I will keep that filter on my mirror up a little while longer. After that, I am looking for Liz Taylor’s soft beautiful lighting.