Whenever I used to complain about my short legs, my mum would remind me that if they were any longer, they'd not fit so perfectly in the gap between my arse and the floor. It's logic that's impossible to argue with. Totally impossible. I only realised today that you can extend it to virtually anything- if my giant head (hat shopping is beyond stressful and I LOVE hats) was any less, well, gigantic, there would be too much space between my ears.
I'm playing about to see if the wisdom transcends. I'm overwhelmed with feelings of inadequacy at the minute. I'm not pretty enough. My body is far from good enough. I'm not deserving enough of my family, my friends, my girlfriend. I'm not funny enough. I'm not nice enough. I'm not smart enough. I've not achieved anywhere near enough. I'm not talented enough at anything. And on, and on, and on. I feel like a slug. Slime-ing through life, not doing or being much of anything.
Slug life chose me.
But really, what does it matter? I don't have to be the prettiest with the best body, who is always the perfect companion, who is the most hilarious, loveliest, who knows the most about the most, has done everything and done everything better than anyone. That's not me. I'm not any of those things. But that's ok, because I fit perfectly right here, right now, slotted into my life perfectly. And on those days where I don't feel like that's the way things are, it's not me that I have to change to fit- it's everything else that ought to be changed to accommodate me. I'm worth being accommodated.
I shouldn't have to change myself to fit any kind of mould. The mould should be altered to fit me. No, wait, even better- let's sack the mould off and just get on with being whatever the hell we are. Best or not best. A person doesn't have to be the best to be brilliant. I'll never win gold, but I am bloody brilliant (and so are you).
I'm enough (and so are you).