In my three months of blogging, I’ve been open about my weekly thoughts, my religious convictions, my love for writing, and my views on art. In short, you know a lot about my mind, but if all that you know about me is what I’ve shared in this space, you don’t really have a good reason to care about what I think, because – well, because you still don’t know much about me. With that in mind, I think it’s about time I start sharing some details about myself with you.

Instead of sharing my name, grade, and favorite brand of toothpaste — as much as I love that game — I’m just going to share how I feel. Literally.

About a month ago, I purchased a magnifying glass to use at work. As a proofreader, I spend a great deal of my time reviewing copy decks and digging through artwork for tiny details and errors. Part of my job is to find things that nobody else has found. Considering the fact that I have had glasses since I could say the word and I once mistook a person doing crunches for a duck – no but seriously, it was concerning – I’m not surprised that my eyes need a little extra help in doing a job that demands such precision. So naturally, I bought a magnifying glass and have since been referred to as Sherlock Holmes on more than one occasion in the office.

They – the often-quoted knowers of all things certain, that is– say that when one of your five senses is particularly dim, you likely have another particularly sharp sense that offsets the dim one. If you have notoriously bad hearing, you might have an exceptional sense of smell, or visa-versa. My close friends – and lets’ be honest, probably most of my acquaintances – can tell you stories that attest to just how horrible my eye-sight is; many inanimate objects have been mistaken for people, many random strangers have been mistaken for friends, and yes, even family members have gone unidentified at times.

My eyesight is certainly not my greatest asset, but what I lack in vision I make up for in hearing. As a pastor’s kid, I had a lot of early opportunities to practice listening. Sermons, weddings and Bible studies always meant prolonged periods of hearing other people talk. Once I got past my antsy years of “do I have to come?” and “dad, my butt hurts,” I started to love attending church events. The boredom faded, but the skill of listening stuck with me. Some people feel a very strong need to be heard, but I would rather listen.

My mouth probably moves more from eating, yawning, and sleeping than it does from talking. As a general rule, I don’t open my mouth until I know what I’m going to say, why I’m going to say it, and who it’s going to impact. I often have a hard time expressing myself on a moments’ notice because I worry that what I say will not actually be true to how I feel or what I think. Some times, I need to say something untrue in order to call it what it is. Until a thought has passed through my internal processor, I don’t trust it.  I realize how powerful words are and I try to use them very carefully. For many people, talking is a main form of expression; in moments when I feel the need to express myself, I usually reach for my journal before I reach for my cell phone.

And that’s just how I feel.

These few physical attributes don’t paint the whole picture, but I like to think that they create an outline. Now that we’ve got an outline, it’s time to start splashing some color on the canvas.

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