Today, while I was in the car with Russell, I confided in him that I sometimes think of my car, and how, even after I put on the brake, though it is fully stopped, when I let it go, I know that it would still creep forward at a speed to smack the back end of another car, and leave a nice good mark. "It's weird," I said.
Yet, I feel like I do this with life all the time. I forget to keep a hold on my brake, and so I creep forward, then smack into something, making a dent. Sometimes, I can't afford the repairs. And I move on, hoping that the dents will be fixed, or maybe replaced with a new body.
And I look around and see the damage on everyone else. A dent here. Some paint scratched there. And the price that has to be paid in order to fix it.
In most cases, seeing what everyone else has to repair is when we look at ourselves to manage what we've got.
I see mine.
I see one that is on my right pointer finger. The paint is scuffed where I judge others. Where I compare values. Where I gossip.
Another is a spot on the bottom of my foot, only exposed when I choose so. A little bent out of shape because of being self conscious, about weight, thoughts, situations... This fender bender is fixed most often, just as often as it's re-bent.
At the nape of my neck is a sputtering engine, where I think too much. Two lines from being keyed, from where I put my hands in too deep. Behind my right ear is where I won't listen, the radio that only receives static.
I see a small dent, near my left knee, where I can't love like I once did.
I also see the good things.
My right shoulder, a windshield wiper, holding my sense of humor. The fluid to wash it is my awkwardness.
My left elbow, the door that only shuts if you slam it hard enough, is my ability to give a great hug.
All of my toes hold my intuition (door locks, of course).
My wrists hold my inner beauty, just like a wheel, how it drives the course.
I love my car. Sometimes, I get frustrated; but I wouldn't trade it in for anything. It can still be fixed up, but it's definitely not broken. I'll keep tuning it until I get it right.
Random Fact: No, Mom and Dad, this is not my way of telling you I got in a car accident. It's all a metaphor. Except for the remark on keeping my car--I love my Jeep (I'd totally still pimp it out though).