impressions

    At what point do you stop trying so desperately to impress other people?  Even those who are trying to be unique--like I often do--when you get right down to it, you're trying to be different, to stand out.  To be noticed in a good way.  And that's not so different from most.  I often think God must be very amused at our theatrics--at the little shows we put on for each other.  Amused, and a little sad, maybe.  

   I guess I am thinking about this because I went to a club tonight. It was elite.  There was a dress code--so much so that one of my friends almost didn't get in because he was wearing shorts that were not Dolce and Gabbana or Michael Korrs.  The lady made a big deal about that and was patronizing to him.  It was ugly and made me not want to go into her stupid club (even if it is partly owned by Cameron Diaz).  I did go, though, because the club was on top of a city building and had a pool and my friends wanted to see it.  So, we finally became the "cool ones"-or at least, cool enough to be given wrist bracelets and let onto a special elevator.  

   Once up there, I will admit it was a little cool--I mean, the view was nice.  Oh, and there are a surprising amount of people on this earth that think I am Russian.  Really, I get it all the time. I am tempted to learn the language and just say yes next time I am asked (which will probably be in about a week, at this rate).  Shortly after entering, a man came up to me and said that he and some friends had a bet as to whether I am Russian or not and could I clear it up...? How many times must one explain that they are not Russian?   

    Oh, and then another guy asked me to dance.  I politely pretended not to understand him.  Well, at first I didn't really understand him, and then I just went with it.  It went something like this:

Guy: Would you like to dance?

Me: Oh, yeah I am a dancer!

Guy: Huh?

Me: You asked if I am a dancer--I am.

Guy: Oh...Ok. What kind of dancer?

Me: Ballet, jazz, modern--I am here with A Chorus Line...

 

  It went on, but isn't worth writing.  The main point is that I deftly avoided the topic of dancing with him--which is not something I ever want to do (dance with him, that is--I would be glad to continue avoiding the topic, though).  And then my friend came over and rescued me.  Gotta love friends. 

   Anyway, one of the things that really stood out to me was that here were all these people gathered in one place, trying desperately to impress somebody, anybody.  The air was heavy with it.  You could feel eyes on you wherever you went, measuring, comparing.  And the sad part is that in such a screaming, crowded, and busy place, it is very easy to feel alone.  To feel like nobody knows you.  That is one of my prayers; to always have the good people God has placed in my life as friends really know me.  If I start hiding from them and spending all my time trying to impress the world, then I know something is wrong.  Life becomes shallow and never good enough, because though there may be some who make a worse impression than me, there will always be someone who makes a better impression than me.  I become precarious, perched on another's opinion.  So, how about not even going down that road?  Sounds good to me.  How about resting in the unbeatable fact--yes fact--that each of us is created by a God who doesn't make mistakes; a God who not only loves us, but likes us too. Finds our thoughts interesting, our likes and dislikes worth something.  I know the word is overused and lost its sparkle, but each of us truly is special.  It's the way we were designed and I'd rather not fight it.  And you know what's really beautiful?  A person who is comfortable in their own skin; who goes beyond the draw of self-absorption and the paralyzing snare of insecurity to actually notice others.  To look around and see what needs to be done to make that moment better.  For someone else.  There's contentment and fulfillment in that--and a refreshing lack of loneliness.  

  Ok, it's 3 am.  I need to sleep.  But one more shallow thing, by which I hope you will be very very impressed by me (at least I am honest, right?). I got my hair done at the Ken Paves Salon in Hollywood today and who was getting her hair done in the chair right next to me, you might wonder?  Ashlee Simpson.  Yep, they were layering her carrot-red extensions while she talked about her new bump, her preggers bump.  So, if you didn't know that (and actually care), then you heard first from me.  Only in L.A., ladies and gentleman...