I’m not predisposed to subtlety. I’m a creature full of life and passion which overflow into all that I do. I live loudly; sometimes that can be a lot to handle. I’m not terribly bothered by my vivacity or with how most others feel about it. If they’re indifferent or inspired or irritated, their feelings are their own.
In any event, due to my liveliness, I find myself well acquainted with the taste of feet. I’m not entirely graceless or charmless, but my bluntness has a way of overriding my sense of tact. I have my moments of quiet, and I certainly appreciated the power of silence. Bluntness is efficacious in its own right, but too often results in me really sticking my foot in it.
Combining the willpower behind directness and the discipline of grace results in the entirely unexpected. As I’m all about spicing up life, embracing the unexpected is my idea of adventure. I’m already pretty memorable, but I’ve struggled with living bravely for a number of reasons. The biggest reason is my gracelessness, not so much in social realms, but in spiritual ones.
None of us lovely souls is without the potential for grace. I merely denied my opportunities to embrace it, letting my fears run rampant. In my state of disgrace, I felt the need to dampen my personality. The “me” I presented to the world was muted, a wet blanket. I was too disconnected from God, and trifled over trivialities.
My spiritual disconnect left me feeling adrift. I needed change, as I felt certain parts of my life stagnating, so I tried to force a future into being. The false start on this change resulted in my poor decision of lessening myself. To fit into my idealized “next step,” I couldn’t actually be who I was supposed to be, thus the watering down of myself.
In this shrinking of myself, I grew apart from God’s plan for me. I found myself tolerating a professional bully. I cared too much for the opinion of those unwilling to change for me. I let others’ fears and expectations get to me. I turned myself into a victim, inviting criticism, under-appreciation, and ignorance of my needs. These are outlandish things compared to my regular demands of life.
The more I allowed myself to be trod upon, the more I resented the people and opportunities present. Wanting to prevent bitterness from poisoning me, I steeled my resolve. Before this decision, I dulled my edge. My forced quietness turned katana to butter knife. I thought losing my “edge” was necessary for the forced change I wanted.
Dullard that I was, I remained ignorant of this tactic’s inefficacy. Losing my edge meant muting the world’s colors. It was akin to trading away hope for numbness, a dangerous road I did not need to revisit. I voluntarily repressed one of the best things about me: my ardent heart.
When I hit a point of of no return, I held my butter knife resolve to those hungry monsters awaiting my fall. I cut them open, dissecting and examining their insides. I used their bones as whetstones to sharpen that butter knife into deadly steel once again.
This edge of mine is now effective–somewhere between hacksaw and unfinished katana. I want a thousand-fold steel as my edge, strong and sleek. I seek the subtle edge of a grace-filled heart and combined force of will. This quiet power lies within, ready for the making. I will become the calm before the storm, the eye at its center, and the relief at its passing.