I love flaws.
I have a big scar on my leg I got at summer camp one year.
The true story of how I got it is quite ordinary and boring but that’s not what I think of when I look at it.
I think of me and my best friend Shelly, at 16 deciding the story was rubbish and, since everyone within spitting distance asked about it, we needed a better one.
We concocted this big ol’ elaborate tale involving me and a jealous cowgirl …with spurs.
It became our best conversation starter, the funny go-to story when we needed an ice breaker with cute boys.
We never told any one the truth. Somehow it wasn’t really a lie if we were both in on it.
We told it so often that sometimes still, when people ask about my scar, I have to remind myself what really happened.
I have a mole on my chest, too. This has always served as a very scientific measurement. If I can see the mole, my shirt is too low. Pretty great placement if you ask me.
I also have scars on my heart, that I cherish as much or more.
Anytime I pass a baseball field I think of my oldest brother, who passed away years ago. At first it hurts a little, but then I think about how much I loved to watch him play, I think about his big hugs that felt like being covered in a homemade quilt and how his smile made me smile and just thinking about it now,
When I see someone who looks lonely and lost I remember the times when I felt that way. I remember walking home from work in scroungy clothes that didn’t fit my very uncomfortable pregnant body. I remember looking in neighbors warm windows and wishing I was living their life instead, wondering how I ended up in mine. Because of my scars I remember exactly how that felt. If not for that I probably wouldn’t be so compelled to reach out and help like so many friends or nice strangers did for me.
Flaws are beautiful. I think they bring us much closer together than “perfection” ever could.
So have fun with makeup and hair and clothes, but never use them to cover up who you really are, because nothing can compare to that.