Parting with the concept of self-image...

Everyone says, "It's not what other people think about you, it's what you think of yourself."

Well, in a way, I think it's true. The way you see yourself affects the way you think other people perceive you. If you think you're fat, ugly, and stupid, you live life hounded by the constant fear that other people think you are fat, ugly, and stupid. If you think you're the hottest thing on the planet since Robert Downey Jr. (And let's face it. That thing simply has not arrived yet...or I would be all over it.), people can see that you're a pompous asshole and they treat you as such. What do you think of yourself? What do you think other people think of you?

There are those who are aware of how their own minds work. These people understand themselves to an extent where they can purposefully avoid getting hurt, but at the same time, run the risk of holding themselves back. Sadly, I am not one of these people. I understand myself just as well as I understand other people. I've lived with my family for sixteen years now, and I can honestly say that I don't know them at all. It's part of who I am, I guess. I don't really pay attention to these things. People are people are people. Yeah, they're animate objects, so what? Understanding people is complicated. Presenting yourself as something they will like is not.

It doesn't take much to figure out what people like and dislike. People hate liars, backstabbers, emo kids, drama queens, assholes, etc. People like to laugh, fool around, talk, etc. Socializing isn't a complicated science. But when you conform yourself to an image that you think other people will enjoy, the lines of your own reality begin to blur. Do I like that, or do people like that? Is that what's right? Or is that what other people tell me is right?

I guess that's what all the adults are warning us about. Identity crisis. "Oh don't worry. You're just going through that phase. Rebellious little thing, aren't you. You'll get over it." Rebellious. Yeah, I guess it fits. We want, so desperately, to choose our own colors for the portrait of our identity that we forget we are all cut from the same canvas. Colors can be painted over, but the canvas will always exist underneath all the layers. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I need to get back to that blank canvas. It's hard to chip off all the excess paint that I've stifled my original self with, but without those extra burdens - the drama, the confusion, the angst - life gets a lot easier. The weights have been lifted, so to speak. Doubtless, no matter how hard we scrub and scrape, some remnants of the old paint will remain. But I believe that these remnants of our past color who we are today and serve as souvenirs of our memories, our mistakes, and our various trials and tribulations.

I realized this weekend that carrying around all this extra crap is really...stupid. It's a waste of effort, time, and potential. I don't want to be constrained by the colors of my canvas. I want to be the blank canvas that demands to be made into a true work of art. The paints of this world are dull and limited, but the palette of the Creator is boundless and everlasting.

I've tried to get it right so many times, but nothing ever stays for long. What is deemed beautiful one day is thrown out the next. Instead, I have to surrender myself, a blank canvas, so that I may be rendered beautiful in His eyes, and serve as an example to others struggling to find themselves in this harsh society.

I am no longer content with being another page out of a novice sketchbook. I want to be classic. I want to be perfect. I want to be His Masterpiece.