I hate coloring.
I failed coloring.
I. Ate. The. Crayon.
This is my acceptance of my life.
From physical notion of the characteristics of one’s artistic ability, I fall quite short. However, in the unmentioned aspect of ‘coloring’ tends to be an area that I have excellent within my life; more so to the pain of MC and Jim and pleasure to myself versus anything else, but none-the-less it is something I’ve greatly enjoyed.
Off the paper.
I love to color outside the lines.
As an adolescent it was solely for the desire to go against the grain, and try to find my identity so that I could be ‘different’ from the rest [which really meant by being different I was being like everyone else...*cues quote from The Incredible's*]. However, as time has progressed through the acne-driven years into the further painful experience of growing up; I still color outside the lines, it’s a natural reaction for me, it’s literally a part of my life, genetic code, identity.
And I love it.
This week I was faced with unusual challenge, one that would test that notion, and of course it had to deal directly with the Kansas City Shock. I made a choice, and on paper it wasn’t necessarily the popular option, but it ran along the line of where my ‘ethical line’ is in business. Those who have dealt with me already in that field know that I’m rather keen on how business is conducted [there is a black and a white in my book].
It was a unique choice, something that no one but myself cornered me into doing. There was no outside pressure, it was inward pressure…what I also would refer to as conviction of seeing something taking place in front of you, and knowing that regardless of your choice in the grand scheme it probably wouldn’t matter either way. However, I grabbed that trusted crayon that I had munched on for years, and just drew that line straight out of the status quo and standard beliefs.
It painted a picture, it told a story, and it explained exactly where I stand.
The rest of the world may have no clue what the actual event was, but man I slept great last night.
Life is still a struggle, and I’m still struck in a nasty rut, but little moments like that; they allow me to know that I’m at least still pushing in the right direction.
I’m still daring to be different.
Yes, this is a signed copy of “Renegades Write The Rules” from author Amy Jo Martin.
I’m still coloring outside the lines.