I've always wanted to be that person who arrives to everything ten minutes early, who expects traffic so leaves fifteen minutes before they have to just incase, who never speeds because they're going to get there at least five minutes early even if they go ten below the speed limit.
I am not that person.
I am the person who, what's the phrase?
"Arrives fifteen minutes late with Starbucks."
Except I didn't have time to get the Starbucks.
Because I was running late.
I have never been an aggressive driver. I have always been that person who drives like a grandma.
Until this past year, when I got a job that requires me to get up at 06:30 and be at work at a normal person's time.
Now I get angry at anyone who is only going the speed limit.
I could be a person who is at least on time. For my birthday this past October, my parents bought me an awesome watch that spurred me to swear to be a person who is five minutes early for everything.
The next day, I was four minutes late for work.
Here's the thing though. I can guarantee you I am going to be late for everything.
And I can guarantee you that because I will be trying on the third outfit for the morning when the clock strikes whatever time I was actually supposed to be heading out the door.
It's not that I've become that Working Woman who always looks like she spent three hours getting ready and is gorgeous every time you see her.
Far from it.
Most days, I look barely put together, hints of makeup and hair thrown back in a bun because that's about all I know how to do with my hair.
And most days, I look barely put together because I am not wearing my clothes, my clothes are wearing me.
Or wearing me down. That is probably a more appropriate phrase.
If I got right down to the nitty gritty, the real issue is that I don't like the way I look.
I am self conscious to a fault, so that's mostly what it is.
I want for a lot of unrealistic things: I want to be a small, petite person; I want to be taller; I want to have nice hands with long, slender fingers; I want to have eyebrows that could slay a man; I want to have long, gorgeous dark locks that every girl is jealous of; I want, I want, I want.
And then somehow all of these wants come out in the mornings when I am getting dressed, and I think maybe if I just looked a little harder in my closet, I would find all of these things.
So I try on ten different outfits before I finally just sigh at my reflexion in the mirror, mutter a "This is good enough I guess," then look at the clock to realize I was supposed to be driving down my driveway twenty minutes ago.
There's not any kind of quick, pretty packaging with a bow on top answer for this.
We girls can be told that we look gorgeous no matter our size. We can sing along to songs with lines like, "Yeah it's pretty clear / I ain't no size two / But I can shake it shake it / Like I'm supposed to do" until we're blue in the face, we can see gorgeous women wearing no makeup and being proud of it, we can do everything we're supposed to and still have poor images of ourselves.
Nothing's going to fix that, at least not for me. I can have the guy I'm seeing tell me he's over the moon with the way I look every single day, and I still wouldn't be content. I can have other girls tell me they're envious of a certain thing about me, and I will be happy for thirty seconds, then look in the mirror and find another flaw.
Accepting of other peoples' flaws is a lot easier than acceptance of your own flaws, I am coming to see.
But I'm working on it. Just know that I am working on it. I fight and I pray and I struggle some more and sometimes I think I look hot and sometimes I remember that what I really want people to see when they look at me is the love I show them because of Jesus' love inside me and sometimes I want to crawl into bed and eat Taco Bell all day because I think I'm especially fat that day and somehow eating more food will make that better.
But I'm working on it. Just like I'm working on not being late all the time.
How ironic is it that I just looked at the clock and I'm supposed to leave my house in five minutes and I'm not ready yet...
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