A few weeks ago I wrote out a list of everything about myself that I was proud of. It’s extensive, and structured like a free verse poem, and I’m going to post it without further introduction because otherwise I’ll chicken out. It’s very…close to my heart.
I don’t know very many things, and probably not as much as I think I do, but I know me, and I am proud to know me.
I am proud of my eyes and my hair and my crooked-teeth smile, because on a scale of one to ten I know I’m at least a nine if not an eleven, and
I am proud of my creativity, for my art and my writing because it may not be the best but it is good and I get better every day and
I am proud of my arrogance, my automatic assumption that I’m the smartest person in the room, because I cannot fault my confidence, but also
I am proud of my ability to back down and say, all right, you’re better than me, and mean it, and feel only the slightest twinge of bitterness, and
I am proud of my outrage, my crying for justice, my merciless conquering of my prejudices and stereotypes, my quest to help others along the same path, even if I get a little pushy sometimes and
I am proud of my passion, my laughing and crying and flinching and squealing over things that have no real bearing on my life except to catch my mind and hold it and
I am proud of my willingness to believe, so that when my sister tells me she can see dead people I accept it with barely a blink and
I am proud of the worlds I spin in my head, and how they grow more complex every day as I gain more understanding of humanity and how the world really works and
I am proud of my new, reluctant, grumpy tendency to look at both sides of a story before I judge and
I am proud of my independence, of the fact that my first reaction to a problem is how can I fix this and not who can I get to fix this, even if it means that I spend a lot more time and effort fixing it because it just doesn’t occur to me to ask for help and
I am proud of my knowledge, a thousand random little tidbits all stored up in my head that serve no apparent purpose except for the times when I am able to shock or teach someone with them and
I am proud of my adaptability, my embracing of change and my willingness to grind my every day habits to dust and blow them away on the wind and
I am proud of my strength, of my ability to bite my lip through pain and defend my thoughts and opinions even if it means the disapproval of people whose opinions I value greatly and laugh through my fear and
I am proud of my intelligence, my understanding, the way I can debate logically and explain things clearly and understand concepts that the sterotypical 14 year old girl is not able to understand and
I am proud of my impulsiveness, of my tendency to seize a stray thought, something that scares me and drives me out of my comfort zone and act on it because who has the time to sit at home when there’s a girl across the street who wants to talk to me or face paint at Target or a chaos of people and things happening and
I am proud of my sense of humor, of my dry puns and sense of drama and honest glee at being able to work a reference into a conversation and sarcasm and stupidly hilarious stories and trivia and
I am proud of my pride, of my self confidence and the way I can go out in public wearing cat ears or a flower crown or a dinky old hat or face paint with my head held high and not even think about it until someone compliments me because they will, and always do and
I am proud of my vehement hatred of coffee and anything neon-coloured and spiders and my equal love of tea (but only herbal tea with milk and a shit ton of sweetening) and earth tones and cats and snakes and
I am proud of my snobbishness, my disgust at badly written books and people who are too fucking prejudiced and stupid to be able to change and my high standards for pillows and friends and
I am proud of my enjoyment of food, salty things and sweet things and delicious things, because there is no way in hell “skinny” (anorexic and attempting to live up to false standards of beauty) feels better than chocolate tastes and
I am proud of my ability to evolve and change and grow and leave the shed skin of my old self behind with hardly a trace of regret and
I am proud of my optimism, my stubborn insistence that, no matter how many times I’ve fallen down or shit has happened, I am going to have fun and live and make friends and meet people and
I am proud of the way this list could go on forever if I let it, because even as I write this I come up with three more things that I am proud of about myself and it will be twenty by the time you read this, but this is a pretty good picture of me.
This is who I am, and I am proud.