“I am NOT ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.”
When my first boyfriend ever broke up with me (over the phone, on a school night, while I tried to hold back the tears), he gave me a list of reasons why. Among them: “You are immature, sarcastic, and fickle.”
I spent a good chunk of the next few years being haunted by his words, and doing my best to change. I wasn’t successful. A decade or so later, I told Rand about it.
“Um, yes,” he said, as though nothing could be more obvious. “Yes, you are. And those things make you awesome. That guy was an idiot.”
There are times when I am entirely comfortable with who I am. There are other times when I am not. Usually, it’s something I can ignore. But every now and then something happens that makes me take a long, hard look at myself. It’s excruciating. And also sort of wonderful.