I stare out that big picture window that I’ve been looking out every morning for almost a year. It takes up over half of the living room wall and extends basically from the floor to the ceiling. Big windows are one of the things that speak to my soul. I’m the kind of person who can’t be home without the blinds and shades open. I must allow the outside in.
This isn’t a perfect window though. It’s old and there are thick, metal frames separating it into 9 quadrants. I accidentally bought blinds that are too small and these are the cheapest window coverings you could buy because again, I wasn’t intending to live here. There’s three damaged spots on those cheap blinds because the dogs attempted to get to the chickens across the street, by way of this big window. I could mention the hole in my pretty curtains from the time the spastic one got his collar hooked while working to retrieve his beloved ball. And for the sake of full disclosure, I could mention the mess that sits all around the room on all sides of the big, wonderful window. The mess of things not yet settled or projects unfinished. This window doesn’t invite your gaze over some picturesque scenery either. Instead, it looks out over a well-traveled road and the neighbor’s yard across the street. Sometimes, I feel like I’ve been hired to spy on them. I have nothing interesting to report as of yet.
To be honest, I could keep going with the list of things that make this window not as great as it could be. It’s lacking in so many ways. I often think I should have just invested the $1,100 to replace it. However, this big, imperfect window is one of the many things that’s given me life this past year. This window has connected me to the outdoors, something I long for on good days and bad. This window has been a point of solace, a place for me to settle in and find comfort, when I never expected to move again so soon. While imperfect in so many ways, this large collection of glass and its thick, silver panes is one of my favorite things about this little place I’ve called home.
I wonder how many other things in our lives are almost perfect. Surely I’m not the only one who can list out a paragraph of flaws with practically anything with very little effort. Are there other things in our worlds that are perfectly fine and good that we primarily look at through the lens of what’s missing? When we do this — focus on what’s lacking — we place dark clouds around what is perfectly good and wonderful. I saw something online recently that said we should vent about our joys as much as we vent about our problems. What an idea! It is so easy for me to settle into a place of wishing both big and small things were different and when I do, I miss out on what’s already great as it is.
It’s easy to sit here and wish for a different house already. Something larger, with more room to invite people over and to host events. Something with more parking and a garage or carport for my car. Something with a dishwasher and a second bathroom. It’s easy to stare out that window and wish that it was looking out over something more beautiful or more private. It’s much, much harder to look at that window and just appreciate it for what it is. A nice, big window that I’m so grateful to have. This window could be half this size and there could be just a small doorway as it once was. If you look closely, you can see the outline of how it was before I owned it. If I had to choose between the two, I’d select my old, metal frames any day.
Sometimes we do this with people too. There are wonderful, lovable features about them and rather than focus on our appreciation of those, we dwell on what’s missing. As someone who’s felt like I have to prove my worth my entire life, I long to be appreciated simply for who I am. I long for people to accept me for the qualities that make up who I am in my truest form, cuss words and all. I long to be welcomed and invited in and loved, because of who Pamela is at her core, not for who I could be with a little extra effort. I’m pretty burned out by extra effort right now. While I’m a master of shapeshifting into what others want and need me to be, my truest desire is to be loved for who I truly am. Bending and melding into different versions of myself gets very tiresome, and I’m quite tired right now.
If this old window had feelings, I’m sure it would feel similarly. I imagine that it wants to be appreciated for what it is, even with its thick and dingy frames. I imagine that it would hate to know that every time I look in its direction, that I am wishing it were different. As a human, I know I long for that acceptance. Today, as I have some extra time to enjoy this window, I look for things to be grateful for. I was grateful for a place to display my Halloween decorations again. This big window was the perfect backdrop for that. I’m grateful for how it framed up my big Christmas tree. I’m grateful for the light it lets into the room, even on a dreary day like today. I’m grateful for how it allows me to feel like I’m not boxed in or stuck inside this house. I’m grateful that it helps me to breathe.
My thoughts return back to myself and all of my own imperfections. I could create a list of my own flaws, much longer than the one for this window. It would be a rather compelling argument. Instead, I think about the things I’m grateful for about myself. Sadly, it’s a much harder exercise than it was with the window. Tears roll down my cheeks as I understand that it shouldn’t be this hard. They come harder as I think of the people I’ve encouraged through the years to see the beauty of who they are over the negative. I feel like a hypocrite, one of the harshest labels an Enneagram 3 like myself can feel. How could I tell other people to focus on the positive when I can’t seem to do it myself? I feel trapped in the negative and seeing only the things I could be better at. For someone who can give grace to a window, I should be able to have a little more grace with myself. And yet, the harsh criticisms and insults I’ve heard ring so loudly in my ears.
I think about what would make me feel better in this moment and all I seem to want is a warm hug and someone to tell me that I am loved exactly as I am, accomplishment and achievement aside. I want someone to tell me that while there are better versions of myself that can exist, it’s fully okay to just be who I am today. That today’s version is good enough. I want to hear that I am enough today, even if I were to stop all the personal development podcasts and books. I want someone to tell me that I can still be loved and accepted, no matter what I say or do, on my best days and on my worst. I want to hear that I can’t fall from grace. That by being myself, I won’t be deemed unlovable. I, like the window, want to be loved unconditionally, thick frames and all.
