I'm flaky. When people compare me to fictional characters, Phoebe on Friends has come up more than once. There is an episode where, in the course<meta name="robots" content="noindex, noarchive, nofollow, NOYDIR">of an argument, Phoebe points out the faults of Monica and Rachel and they fire back, calling her flaky. Her response? "That's true. I am flaky." Completely comfortable with herself, she doesn't even find it an insult. Ever since I first saw that episode, I've been actively working to embrace the flaky within me. My friend Bethany even painted me this mug (in which I now drink my daily coffee As a flaky person, I say stupid stuff, forget things too often and -- most embarassing for some reason -- miss freeway exits on a weekly basis. And my heart sinks with self-hatred deep into my stomach each time I realize I've driven too far. If a friend told me she responded this way to something as silly as missing a freeway exit, I'd be horrified. Why is it OK for us to lift up our friends but continually abuse ourselves? So lately, I've started treating myself the way I should. I laugh it off. I lovingly joke to myself, "There I go again!" And then I give myself a big loving hug (not literally -- I mean I keep my hands on the steering wheel). And you know what? I think I've embraced the flaky.
I admire eccentric people. I love their quirks. I am able to laugh with them and love them even more because of these things. And, you know? I kind of love that I miss freeway exits now. It's part of what makes me more wholly me. It's stupid and funny and usually annoying, and I love me for it. It makes me more whole, more real, to have flaws. And more authentic to embrace them with humor.
However, there is a fine line between being able to laugh graciously with yourself and using humor as a weakly disguised way of insulting yourself. I suppose t