I’ve been struggling with some high key impostor syndrome lately. It seems like every time I read something good, all I think is, what’s the point of me if that person is already out there saying something so much more perfectly?
(Like that. “More perfectly”? Come on. I’m a waste.)
But here’s what happened the other day. I padded out in my socks to bring in the trash can.
(See, I can’t even be bothered to put on shoes properly. That’s how not-good-enough I am. And, by the way, I passed two pairs of shoes in the hallway in order to do that.)
As I turned around to wheel the bin back in, I caught sight of a contractor’s van in my neighbor’s driveway. I noticed that it was a company I hadn’t seen in the neighborhood before and thought, oh, neat, I’ll have to ask if they liked working with them.
That’s when it clicked.
We need more than one contractor in the area, right? Options.
Maybe it’s okay if I’m imperfect, because that’s how I can reach people. Maybe it’s okay if I’m another voice, because I’m different.
Maybe – just maybe – my imperfections make me relevant, not superfluous.
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