Ode to Onions and Lucille Ball

I'm like an onion.

Or a cake. Cake have layers. Everyone likes cake.

But seriously. Lately, I've noticed that the more I change and improve myself, the more I'm aware of how far I have yet to go. One layer comes off, and another bitter, eye-stinging layer is revealed.

It's infuriating.

Here's an example. I consecrate all my time, thoughts, and energy on not cracking my knuckles. It's tough and it takes dedication. But after days and days of concentration, I finally have the sweet, little victory of realizing it is no longer a habit.

Only then, after I've ridded myself of my outermost imperfection, do I recognize my other annoying habit of clicking my tongue. (I provide a never-ending supply of irritating sounds.)


It's a constant, uphill battle to self-improvement. And at times it's discouraging.

Because as we know, in the New Testament, Christ commanded us to be perfect.

Perfect. There are many interpretations of His meaning behind that declaration. The way I understand it is best explained using an example from my life.

Alone in the Universe

I've been thinking lately about my self perception.

And the ever-ambiguous charge to "be myself".

But that requries knowing who "myself" is. When I was younger, I didn't really know. So, utilizing my fourteen-year-old ingenuity, I created an outline.

Smart. Kind. Determined. Perfect love for others. Vast knowledge of current events and all things scriptural. Multitasker. Even tempered. Diligent. Perfect hair. Perfect body. Perfect grades. Good friend. Good sister. Good daughter. Everybody loves me.

The most important part was the last one. I based my success on whether or not people liked me.

That is not a happy way to live, let me tell you.

Over analysing. Constantly comparing. Always doubting.

Bending to that harsh, little voice that wants nothing good for me.