Choose Ye This Day... #WhichDoorIsYours

I hate the internets, yo. Hate’em.

I was perfectly content propped up in my bed, trolling social media, with my Riesling and dark chocolate. I had two salads today. I don’t need your judgment. #thishereblogismyhereblog

I took this in Europe in 2005. Dove stole this idea. LOL

Earlier in the day, a FB friend posted a link. There was an advertisement that attempted to show “real” women, as Victoria’s Secret made an effort, but uh… …nah. And there were all those kinda good feelings. That maybe a body type that is still nicer than mine, but it kinda closer to mine is something to be celebrated. Let the church say amenT.

I mean, I have PTSD about Victoria’s Secret. Did you know that in my adult I-Got-My-Own-Money-Even-Though-This-Is-A-Student-Loan-Refund life I have only been able to purchase fragrances and the occasional pair of panties from Victoria’s Secret? I was in college at UCLA, right? Went down to the Westside Pavilion I think it was… Everybody is getting fitted for bras. The chick looks at me, looks down at her measuring tape, looks back at me and hits me with the We don’t carry your size. I’m like, but uh, you didn’t even size me? And she looks back down at her measuring tape like, Uh, trust me, I’ve done the research.

So, eFF Victoria and her janky secrets. You wanna know the secret? She sucks!

And thank you for that advertisement. It made me smile.

I pretty much forgot about that enlightening moment because I was at work and meetings just had to happen. I went about my day. Bought as much discounted Easter candy as my reusable shopping bags could hold, then retreated to my place of solitude.

And found this.

It could all be so simple. I tend to make things harder. Me loving me is like a battle. I imagine if you thought about it long enough, you’d find out that you made some stuff really difficult too.

You already know I'm going in the purple one.

All they had to do was choose a door. The damn thing was glass. You could see inside. Both entrances led to the same place. But that one word above the threshold gave that door handle so much power. Made it just unattainable enough, that you had to face those inside demons, on the outside, before going inside.

Dammit.

I might have failed that test had that been me. I know that I’m average, I don’t believe that I am beautiful. I believe that other people believe I am beautiful. I’m average, with some beautiful moments. Like, I have to put work into beautiful, because I wake up every day exactly like this…flawed...and all. Some days there are less flaws than others, but ya girl got issues, bruh. Issues.

But I’m a hypocrite. Of the worse kind, because it’s so obvious, but it takes social science experiments like this one to figure it out. I have been walking around telling people that everything is about choice. Not worrying about others, but understanding your own. Accepting the choices you make. Learning them, and from them. Growing from them. Being content, or at the very least, finding peace with them.

And there is nothing about me that is content or at peace with being average. How can I not be great? How can I not be beautiful? I am my Daddie's daughter. I am the progeny of a great man and beautiful woman. I carry a legacy steeped with intelligence, righteousness, creativity and passion. And that’s just in the name I was given.

It’s the baggage. In talking to someone stuck in the mire of a relationship that ended with someone else’s choice, I realized that I too am damaged. Sure I knew this before that conversation, but it was pretty damn clear. Of the relationships and situationships that have ended – they were all choices, typically not mine…one, of recent had nothing to do with my insides, but completely about my outside. What that person saw when they saw me. The door that person would usher me through. The same door I would have chosen.

Imma stop letting these words bring me down.

That’s the incredible power of choice. The power of our own choices. And the oftentimes debilitating power we give the choices of others – no matter our understanding of them. Because Lord knows I don’t understand his. Even though his choice isn’t mine to understand. I could literally, figuratively, mentally, and spiritually, fix what was damaged by choosing the Beautiful door. Yet, I spend most of my time affirming his choice. Seeing what he saw.

Something, people around don’t even see.

A man told me this weekend that there was something about me that drew him in. Caused people to desire to be around me. To seek me out. To do whatever they can, give whatever they have to be in my gravitational field.

…and there I am, in front of the building, conflicted. #ForShame