My Ragged Edges

January 22nd, 2012

I’ve probably written before about how much I live in my head and fail to pay enough attention to my surroundings, but something ragged and imperfect and gorgeous about these leaves caught my eye. The wabi-sabi-ness of them allures, like the tattered petals of peonies or chipped nail polish or the crackled glaze on an old plate. I’ve always been so intent on polishing my presentation, covering up my flaws, revising my past that I exhaust myself trying to be A Better Me. I shared some background about my bleak family life and childhood with a friend recently and admitted that I was tired of trying to wrangle my life history into a tidier narrative. One with quirky relatives and appealing redneckiness told with an eye-rolling shrug and wry tone of voice. It’s a relief to admit to myself that I’m chipped china and wind-blown leaves and crumbling stucco and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

3 Responses to “My Ragged Edges”

  1. This is just for you. It is all about the mistake of trying to create a tidy narrative:

  2. Why do we feel compelled to create a personal mythology? It’s a compulsion that crosses cultures, but sees all of us as wanting to imagine ourselves on a journey or a quest that sees us ascending or triumphing. Joseph Campbell wrote many books on the topic. It’s deeply ingrained in the American way of living but is a story older than time.

  3. claire says:

    love this post.
    don’t know what to say.

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