Lately I’ve been the walking definition of awkward.
There’s a clever, graceful girl hidden within – she tries to guide me but the awkward thrives.
Clever claws her way past Awkward often, just trying to be heard, but Awkward always catches up and trips Clever before I heed her message.
Awkward pushes on.
Over the years, I’ve come to embrace Awkward and, fortunately, I’ve found people who find it endearing. Some days, though, I wish I had the power to summon Clever with ease.
I find that a healthy sense of humour can often push Awkward into the shadows. There’s nothing like a well-placed self-deprecating joke to help soften the most uncomfortable situations but then there are times Awkward co-opts my sense of humour as well.
Mischievously, Awkward will lunge towards Humour at the most inappropriate times and shove a stifled laugh out of my mouth before I can reel it back in. My laugh isn’t quiet. It’s a curse.
Perhaps that’s why I’m drawn to writing: I can edit out most of the awkward.
Then something like this squeaks through and I realize I just need to make peace with Awkward and move on.