We are so strange. We cry “It’s not fair!” when it happens to us, but blink when it happens to the next guy. Hardly ever do we admit we’re wrong, and when we do, it comes with a “But” explanation that undoes our apology. We’re threatened when someone else achieves success, and jealousy and insecurity instantly work to topple the other person instead of celebrating with them. We are quick to buy into the false philosophies of Hollywood and lyrics, but we re-post dreamy idealistic quotes and never live out what it says. We resist change, even when those changes come from free services we don’t have to pay for. We feel entitled to things that didn’t exist a year ago. We get mad in traffic, which does nothing to the traffic. We do everything possible to extend our lifespan and live comfortably, but are less likely to work on our motives and our hearts and our inner hurts.

We know this is all true: but we think it’s true for someone else. Not me. I can worry later. I’m fine today. She needs the help. He needs the advice. I’m the hottest smartest one in the room, you know.

But we all have blind spots, and we can’t see them: which is why they’re called blind spots. I can only hope a friend loves me enough to twist my head around, turn on a light, and get me to see what I’ve been missing. To help me laugh at my own ridiculous hang-ups. To love me through the worst of myself, to a better place, where I am a step closer to the person God has created me to be.