When I saw this today in my Facebook news feed, it reminded me of several things:
1) I’m kind of weird and random at times
2) I’m okay with that
3) I wasn’t always okay with that
4) Maybe lots of people are afraid to be themselves, and how much is that contributing to their lack of happiness?
We all have to live in the world and get along reasonably well with other people to have any real hope of being happy, in my viewpoint. I know, some people are perfectly content hanging around by themselves all day long, but most of us thrive on our relationships.
In fact, there’s a little glossy book I sort of like called The 100/0 Principle and I’m certain I’ll post about it at some point, because I struggle with the concept a bit. But one of the important points made in the book is how integral relationships are to happiness and success. More on that later.
Today’s topic is more about letting go of some of that fear of not fitting in or being “normal” enough or doing things “right”, or whatever you are currently beating yourself up about these days. Sometimes the things we like to do and the ways we like to spend our time are pretty commonplace; other times they’re a little more “out there”. But you can probably find someone who is into virtually anything you can think of, and if you don’t believe me…check the Internet. Being afraid to let people know who you are makes it harder to have relationships, or at least really meaningful ones. And that makes it harder to be happy.
I had a conversation with Tween Spirit the other day about being “different” and how that is not a bad thing. She had heard the use of the word when you’re politely saying someone’s cheese has slid off their cracker…”Oh, he’s a little…different.” So she sort of thought being different was not so hot.
Then she remembered a story one of the kids in The Boy’s school wrote in response to the “PTA Reflections” contest about diversity, and how boring it would be if everyone had the same name, and liked all the same things, and thought the same way, etc. So she sort of grudgingly came around to semi-accepting that it might sort of kind of be slightly acceptable to be different.
We’re all different! And that is fine. In fact, it’s great. And what I liked about this quote/picture was the idea that hiding that different-ness might lead you to miss out on a lot in life. So let’s not.
So what about the “failure biscuits”, you ask? Well. This weekend I came downstairs from a shower to find Better Half installing a kitchen faucet (which, by the way, is AWESOME), yellow food coloring spattered across various countertops and soaked into various kitchen towels (less than awesome), and some biscuits in the oven (again, awesome).
I had been upstairs for 20 minutes, tops. But I digress. Apparently, Tween decided she wanted to make biscuits, and did all the steps properly, except she put them in the microwave. Apparently the logic was: I was upstairs, Better Half was still out getting faucet, and she knew she couldn’t use oven without permission, yet wanted tasty biscuits, so…
The Boy was the culprit on the food coloring; I still have not received a clear answer for that one.
The biscuits, as you may have guessed, didn’t fare well in the microwave. They later had to go in the oven, where they cooked to a trans-fat-filled deliciousness. Several of us sampled and enjoyed them. Later, Tween said, “Everybody liked my failure biscuits!”
First, I cracked up at the phrase “failure biscuits”. Then I was curious: Why was she calling them “failure biscuits”? (See, I find it funny enough that I want to type it again and again.)
“Because I messed up and put them in the microwave. I failed.”
WHAT??!! You thought you failed because you put biscuits in a microwave? Oh…I need to do some work here. So we had a little chat with the basic theme “all’s well that ends well” and “mistakes are how we learn” and stuff like that.
I felt quite bad that she would call it a failure, but hopefully now it’s in perspective. And next time she makes biscuits, which I hope is soon, I’m still calling them Failure Biscuits. In fact, I might just start calling all biscuits that. LIVING ON THE EDGE.