I have been looking at a map of myself, from above. Even when I was in third grade, and thought for the first time about how others saw me, and how it was different from Who I Actually Was, I couldn't get away from seeing myself not from inside, but from above. And the light my consciousness shed on my map was from above, too. So I had a brash, seeing-it-all view. Every flaw. Every thought. Every crack and every moment.
A series of events over the past week have given me a new vantage point -- or at least a different light source.
Reassessing my career. Reconnecting with an ex, after -- gasp! -- almost a decade. Sitting in a minivan with a group of my mom's friends. Watching Short Bus
I got the chance to see myself and place myself within a different context. It's like the light I shine on myself has been shifted, to their
angle of view, and what I see is remarkable.
I've come to realize how unique I am. I'm not unique in that "everyone's unique" kind of way -- I have hills and valleys, I do have my own hobbies and interests and ways of saying things and opinions about stuff.
My uniqueness, though, is in a "more-than-two-standard-deviations unique" kind of way. I am utterly unique; my personality has spikes and crevasses and fjords (yay!) and shifting dunes. I am bizarre
, and I love myself for it.
So now, I have my own light with which I assess my terrain. Plus I have lights of every frequency shining from the side, so I get this glorious interplay of subtractive glow and shimmery shadows. And as I change, these lights refract through me and help me know myself better. Brighter. Best.