One of my dear friends recently posted this awesome image on Insta, which I’m formally thanking thereisnoceiling.com for. I flipping love this post, and I even kinda relate. In many ways, on many days, I fuckin love myself, and I generally believe I’m a badass sexy intelligent beast. This is good shit, my friends. It’s awesome to know your strengths and come from a place of personal power.

But, y’know, I suppose I can also acknowledge that I’m not, like, 100% perfect. High 90s maybe, but we all have room to grow, right? And one of those teeny tiny little growth areas for me may possibly, perhaps revolve around patience.

Here’s my excuse. What’s yours?

Look, ok? There are really valid, deeply rooted reasons why I don’t suffer fools at all. I was held to impossibly high standards as a kid. Perfection was the only way for me to avoid serious-ass judgment from a not entirely emotionally stable mom. I honestly came to believe that the only way to avoid censure, to avoid being hurt, to be accepted, was by never, ever making mistakes. Which is likely why I would fly into a rage or start crying every time I actually did make a mistake. Which I almost never did. Cuz, perfect, ok?

So, ya, anyway—I don’t believe that anymore. Co-running a blog called Conscious & Carefree here, friends. I’ve put a lot of my childhood shit behind me. But, still, all that muck down there provides a good platform when you need to justify less-than-conscious behaviour, so there you have it. I’m impatient because I wasn’t allowed to make mistakes, and so you aren’t either.

And, really, mistakes are kind of like beauty, aren’t they? Kind of in the eye of the beholder? Which means I can deem any behaviour I don’t like as misbehaviour, and be a shit about it. Vocally.

Just a sampling of my awesomeness

This makes me a joy to be around in a wide variety of situations. Skip The Dishes messed up my food order? I’m pissed off. Some asshat cut me off in traffic? Pissed off. And people pushing into line instead of lining up like good little soldiers? Yup, you guessed it. Pissed off.

It’s not good for me. I know it’s not. If I can just call on that well of equanimity I’ve been filling up, one tiny drop at a time, for decades now, I’d be able to avoid responding to what I perceive as misbehaviour with my own even bigger misbehaviour. Instead of my heart pumping and my tongue lashing, I could, maybe, be patient. Take a deep breath. Accept that nothing, not one damn little thing, will get better in response to me getting upset. That, in fact, the only way for things to get better is if I get better—in my heart and head.

In search of perspective

Compared to the neurological mess I once was, this stuff is fluff. It barely signifies.

Except, of course, it does. No excuses when looking in that mirror, peeps. Not when you’re looking into your very own eyes. I am proud of myself. I am improving every day. And I owe it to myself—and to others—to rein in the judgment. Mistakes are opportunities to learn. More than that, they’re essential to growth.

So if you’re tempted, like me, to get your ire up in those crazy Christmas shopping lines, when your day doesn’t go just right, when the answer you got wasn’t the answer you wanted, how about we curb that shit, huh? Together, right now, let’s take a deep breath and get some perspective. We get back what we give out. And I wouldn’t mind if the world was more patient with me. That’s the gift I’d like to give myself this holiday season.