I wonder how often we underestimate ourselves?
I did a reading the other night for a book I am in called “Shades of Blue,” where people would introduce me to others and I’d think “I sound really awesome.” People think I’ve done so much, AM DOING so much – but most days I am just sitting here on my sofa in my pajamas at 2 pm, without even having brushed my hair or teeth or put on a shirt.
But maybe I have done a lot? Maybe I am doing a lot? Maybe we can’t see ourselves clearly?
Maybe we always feel like we aren’t doing enough. My tattoo on my arm there by Conscious Ink says “Enough”. Maybe we are doing enough?
Why do others see us so differently than we see ourselves? I know that I make a difference, in some small ways at least, but a lot of times I feel like a sloth with side boob. I’m just wondering what it would be like to see ourselves through other’s eyes for one day.
I think a lot of us feel like frauds, like we’ve pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes. “Oh, if they only knew the REAL me, they wouldn’t think I was so great.” My epiphany on this sunny day is this: I think that’s a lie.
I think the real us is the best us and sitting on your sofa is a good idea, sometimes. Sometimes the very best idea. And that “doing a lot” is sometimes the biggest crock of sh*t there is. Maybe my greatest ideas happen when I’m being a sloth? Maybe this is how I fuel myself so I can go out into the world and lead and teach and make mistakes and do love.
Today, don’t underestimate yourself.
The best way to do that is by not comparing yourself to anyone else. The best way to do that is to get out of your head. It’s a bad neighborhood, anyway.
In my estimation: you are rad.
I may or may not get up off this sofa.
Last reminder: most of the stuff you see on Instagram and social media is curated and fake. Not all. But the books are just so, the candids aren’t so candid, the perfect moments are staged. Not all. But a lot. What you miss is the photos that show you the “here’s what the f*ck I’ve done today: nothing” kind of moments.
And those, my friends, are happening. Not everyday is productive, busy, perfect.
Some days just are.