Facing the ugly

Facing the Ugly.

Or, as Mel Gibson coined,

Hugging the Cactus.

I have written in the past about turning my mirror to others in order to see my reflection.  Later in life I began using my mirrors, still pointed away from me, to blind others with the images I wanted them to see.  I hid behind religion, intellect, and humor.  I probably hid behind religious humor and humorous intellect (see what I did there?)

That worked until I was stranded on my own island. Isolated, I was forced to first find my mirrors, then scrape off the grime, and finally learn how to use them without blinding anyone else.

There’s a blessed curse in learning how to use mirrors.  Once you’ve seen reflected beauty, it’s easier to see the ugly.

I received a warning today from the camp host.  Some have complained that I left my dogs unattended in the dog park, and that I have not picked up after the dogs. 

The complaints are valid.  Time to hug a cactus.

I am lazy, and I have a Ph.D. in procrastination.  I assume no one is looking to justify my lack of being responsible.  I would bet money I’m on the road instead of living in East Texas because I did not maintain the family property.  “I’ll get it tomorrow” justifies my tendency to color outside the lines.

Defensively, my mind has always wandered, and most of my life has been spent learning how to let it gallop, unbridled.  Thinking without borders allows the creativity to carry me places unimaginable, but it also creates ripples that some boats cannot navigate.  My actions, likely viewed as inactions, have been interpreted as negligent and careless.

Returning to fecal matters, after my lashings from the park manager, my inner five-year old was forming his rebuttal.

“My dogs poop discretely in the line of tall grass.”

“I’m thirty feet away from the dog park, so I’m not leaving them unattended.”

“By the way, your park is full of bunnies.  My dogs are going to split in two with anxiety.”

I did wrestle with myself today as I drove the mountains.  I should be picking up after the dogs.  How shitty of me to wait to be told to do so?   Why must I wait to be held accountable when proving accountability is far easier, and germinates pride in place of embarrassment.  

For fifty years I’ve been a conscientious objector to taking initiative.  I preferred to let my irresponsibility be seen as immaturity rather than exhibiting the only trait I’ve ever wanted to feel – being an adult.

For far too long, I’ve been a fifteen-year-old crying foul for getting caught sneaking out.  Truthfully, that fifteen-year-old’s tears are from my fifty-year old’s disappointment.  I sabotaged my integrity by sneaking out, and, when caught, I was prepared with a litany of protests.  I had turned away from the mirror too long.

The next lesson for me is to learn insight and tenderness when reprimanding myself.  If my five-year-old boy crashed his bike when I told him not to build the ramp, why condemn him for it?  I’d rather treat the wounds and have a conversation about why I forbade the ramp?  What if we explored his reasons for doing it?

Better still, let’s build the ramp together next time…