I can name a million things that I’m bad at:
the first 16 have to do with the maintenance and handling of a motor vehicle (I’ll let you know when I’m in the road),
- properly plucking my eyebrows so they’re even own both sides,
- reading “I’ll Love You Forever” without sobbing uncontrollably,
- successfully completing a Lego playset without abandoning it halfway through,
- confrontation with people who know what they’re talking about,
- a sense of confidence that everything I said and did during that social interaction last week wasn’t completely awkward,
- sometimes snorting while laughing (okay, OFTEN snorting while laughing- take it as a compliment),
- and team sports.
Additionally, I wear shoes that are completely inappropriate for the weather. I drink too much wine. I get frustrated and tend to fly off the handle when I’m running late. I look drunk at 10 am, when I’m dead sober.
Oh yeah, I’m also petrified of small rodents- to the point that I’d throw a loved one in the direction of a heinous mole to run away screaming for my life.
These are for starters.
There are things that come more naturally to me; for those, I am grateful. Specifically, car dancing. I am excellent at busting a move to 90s R&B classics at red lights. My children may disagree, but I know the truth.
A sign of maturity is the ability to realize and accept one’s own faults, and I try to do that. It drives me completely out of my mind, though, when I’m blamed for faults that are not my own, or things that are totally out of my capacity.
Which brings me to my current situation: homeless, bags of food and clothing in the trunk of my car, moving from place-to-place because wonderful friends are willing to take us in, awaiting a closing date on my new house.
It could be worse. It could be A LOT worse.
The problem I have is that it seems as though everyone in the situation places the blame on every other person. At the heart of it is (li’l old) me. Although I know that there are many things that I’m not great at, I need to realize that this is out of my hands, and resist the urge to blame anyone else.
Even though it’s clearly somebody else’s fault.