Sunday, March 25, 2012


I have accepted that I am not asleep. I think we can all agree on that.

I have accepted - for the first time - that no, not everybody pulls out a blank canvas that's been intimidating them for months and starts to slap color on until they get to the point where they can't stop until it's finished. Not everyone gets that feeling, I guess, but I've always had a hard time understanding that everybody else is not exactly like me. I'm allowing myself to feel unique, and I usually fight that feeling, and then I try harder to be unique.

I have accepted that I usually paint in a progressing state of undress. This is logical, as I get paint on my clothes one hundred percent of the time, and the second-best way to get paint out of clothes is to take them off immediately and run them under water for a long time. The first best way is just to not wear the clothes in the first place. This is why I must paint alone. Near a sink.

I have accepted not only that I do but that I always will draw like my father. This is not a bad thing - he is a skilled (and financially thriving) draftsman/painter/sculptor. But I have wished so many times that I could just paint with somebody else's hands. Just to be fresh to my own eyes. I don't know how it's genetic, but it is, and it's in the whole Hopkins bloodline and it's in my pencil lines and my handwriting and my brush strokes and it's in the painting of lily pads that my uncle did before I was born that is so stale to my eyes because it's in my genes. Mama, I know you're reading this, please don't be offended. I have a love-hate relationship with that painting. The one in the guest room.

This is an experience I have frequently, the strong desire to be someone else. Just to be completely and perfectly new, just once, just to burst the bubble. I'm learning to accept being a me. I'm always astonished to see the signs of people who are wholly comfortable with being who they are, and they're not thinking that they're doing it wrong and everybody else with the answer key is pitying them. I say "the signs of" because I don't really know, because how could I, I am a me and not a them. I have accepted that I spend a lot of time (too much) thinking about myself, and most of the time my epiphanies only last until I get bored of them.

I have accepted that I like peppermint but not spearmint.

Also, I think I have an oral fixation, but only in the afternoons. This would explain my snacking problem.

4 reason(s) to click here:

Rachel Helps said...

I loved this post. I feel like I'm always in the process of accepting that I'm a little weird, though sometimes I think I should have gotten over that as a teenager. I haven't. Oh well. :-)

Sarah said...

This is a great idea... about accepting ourselves even though we may still have nuances we don't like. I can't really put it into words, but thanks for sharing.

Marduk, slayer of Tiamat said...

Quite the contradictory epiphany. I genuinely appreciate the simultaneous realizations, however. The yin and yang of the unique versus breaking traditional molds has always fascinated me.

Erin said...

Summer, when I think of people who are totally ok being who they are, and not trying to be anyone else, or something they're not, I ALWAYS think of you! So it was surprising to me to read that you don't feel the same. But I guess like you said, we just don't know what people are thinking, do we? Love you lots.