Note to Self

I genuinely like reading blogs. I like seeing what friends are up to, getting inspired by the creativity I see, even reading about spiritual crap. It’s so personal. I almost feel like I’m spying on people; looking in their windows while wondering if I can break in to go through their underwear drawer.

Then I start to feel bad about myself. “Why can’t I be that crafty?” “Compared to that, my photography looks like I took the pictures in a closet with a dollar store disposable camera.” “My decorating is gay in a totally non-fabulous way.” “My butt is SO much bigger than hers, and not awesome OR Kardashian-y.” “My garden might as well be devoured by locusts, because it will never look as good as that one.” “I never do fun things with my kids like she does; they’re gonna grow up emotionally stunted.” “Why can’t I be religious like that? All church makes me want to do is roll my eyes or cry.” Yada yada yada...

But I guess I can find peace in knowing that I can’t possibly be the only one that feels inferior. I’ve only met a few people who REALLY think they’ve got everything down perfectly, and I wouldn’t want to read their blogs anyway. So, blog on, you talented, happy, glorious goons! My butt and I are going to go crochet a sweater that will probably end up resembling a pile of broken twigs wearing a hat.