When I taught music, I would walk onstage the night of performances with a calm smile on my face. My students and I were the only ones privy to the tremendously messy process of preparing a show – (i.e. lengthy rehearsals, squeaky instruments, mixed up choreography, scheduling disasters, and Miss Zook almost losing her SHIT multiple times per week). What the audience saw was a final product, neatly wrapped up and delivered to them in their seats.
I don’t have an actual stage upon which to make a grand entrance anymore. I have this blog, which is in many ways similar to a stage. The words you see here are much prettier than the process of learning the lessons that inspired them.
You see my words about fitness, but you don’t see me in my early 20s with a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of Captain in the other (probably making plans for a 3am Taco Bell run).
You see my words about kindness, but you don’t see the numerous times I was a complete and utter jerk to people I care about.
You see my words about resting and self-care, but you don’t see my major struggle with anxiety-induced overtraining and overworking.
You see my favorite word “Unfuckwithable,” but you don’t see me sobbing on the phone to a friend because I was hurt very deeply by someone else’s words.
You see my words about gossip, but you don’t see the multiple times I listened to rumors, believed them, and passed them on.
You see my words about positive self-talk, but you don’t hear some of the horrible, nasty, unkind garbage I used to say to myself (and which still sneaks in every once in a while).
My words speak to an ideal – the person I want to be. My actions speak to reality – the person I am. My reality doesn’t match my ideal (psst- never will). But it is closer than it was ten years ago. Five years ago. One year ago. Yesterday.
Here, on this blog, you see words that I’ve had time to process, analyze, read, re-read, and edit BEFORE I hit “publish.” (Didn’t I write a post about not being a perfectionist??) Life isn’t like that. We don’t get to proofread or photoshop our days as they unfold. We see each others’ Facebook statuses and Instagram pictures and forget they are only a tiny snapshot of our whole big world. We see the smiling family pictures on the Christmas cards but don’t really know the whole story. We see the smokin’ hot high heels but not the blisters and achey feet inside them (or the unattractive limp the following day).
Call me wise. Call me fake. Call me ignorant. Call me brilliant. Call me classy. Call me clueless. Call me a bitch. Call me kind. Call me crazy. They’re all accurate. And they’re all just a part of me… not the whole story.
People are amazing. But don’t ever be fooled into thinking they aren’t human.
Life is beautiful. But don’t ever be fooled into thinking that it should always be pleasant.
Related Posts:
Black and White? No Thanks, I’ll Live in the Gray Area
Nope, I Don’t Always Take My Own Advice
People Never Change. True or False?
One Reply to “Smokin’ Hot Shoes Don’t Tell the Whole Story”
Comments are closed.