Pen's Blog - Posts Tagged "lessons"
The Frieda Philosophy
When I first laid eyes on her, my initial thought was “that is the most hideous sight I have ever seen.” The I took a really good look at her. And what I saw really surprised me.
It was at a friend’s garage sale that I spotted her - a white porcelain elephant a little over a foot tall. Someone — either thinking they were artistic, clever or on a drug-induced trip — had painted big green and yellow flowers all over her along with black, green and blue curly-q designs. The points of both her tusks were broken and she was missing a small chip or two.
It’s only natural that an initial reaction would be one of incredulity.
But looking closely at this elephant, I noticed she has one foot poised in mid-air, her trunk is held high, there is a twinkle of delight in her eye.
And she’s smiling. BIG smile.
I realized she doesn’t care what I — or anyone else for that matter — thinks of her. SHE thinks she’s beautiful. And that’s all that matters to her.
“How much for the elephant?” I asked my friend.
“Take her,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I probably won’t be able to sell the hideous thing anyway.”
I named her Frieda and Frieda has been through a lot with me over the years. We’ve moved across country and back between Georgia and California. We’ve moved to North Carolina and back to Georgia.
She’s been broken and repaired with tape and glue. And still she holds that trunk aloft and keeps on smiling. She’s a trooper and an inspiration, jubilant throughout anything and everything.
Frieda has a very valuable lesson to offer: the only opinion of you which should matter to you is your own.
I try to live the Frieda Philosophy daily. I hold my head high and try not to care what other people think of me. Some days this is more difficult than others, especially when you’ve been groomed your entire life to value more the view that others have of you than you have of yourself. But I work at that every day because Frieda stands resolutely atop a 1940’s radio which used to belong to my father. She winks at me each morning before I walk out the door and I can almost hear the triumphant trumpet call from her trunk.
Frieda supports me unconditionally. She inspires me every day just by being there. She is testimony to strength, determination and self-love.
Maybe the person who painted her knew exactly what she or he was doing.
It was at a friend’s garage sale that I spotted her - a white porcelain elephant a little over a foot tall. Someone — either thinking they were artistic, clever or on a drug-induced trip — had painted big green and yellow flowers all over her along with black, green and blue curly-q designs. The points of both her tusks were broken and she was missing a small chip or two.
It’s only natural that an initial reaction would be one of incredulity.
But looking closely at this elephant, I noticed she has one foot poised in mid-air, her trunk is held high, there is a twinkle of delight in her eye.
And she’s smiling. BIG smile.
I realized she doesn’t care what I — or anyone else for that matter — thinks of her. SHE thinks she’s beautiful. And that’s all that matters to her.
“How much for the elephant?” I asked my friend.
“Take her,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I probably won’t be able to sell the hideous thing anyway.”
I named her Frieda and Frieda has been through a lot with me over the years. We’ve moved across country and back between Georgia and California. We’ve moved to North Carolina and back to Georgia.
She’s been broken and repaired with tape and glue. And still she holds that trunk aloft and keeps on smiling. She’s a trooper and an inspiration, jubilant throughout anything and everything.
Frieda has a very valuable lesson to offer: the only opinion of you which should matter to you is your own.
I try to live the Frieda Philosophy daily. I hold my head high and try not to care what other people think of me. Some days this is more difficult than others, especially when you’ve been groomed your entire life to value more the view that others have of you than you have of yourself. But I work at that every day because Frieda stands resolutely atop a 1940’s radio which used to belong to my father. She winks at me each morning before I walk out the door and I can almost hear the triumphant trumpet call from her trunk.
Frieda supports me unconditionally. She inspires me every day just by being there. She is testimony to strength, determination and self-love.
Maybe the person who painted her knew exactly what she or he was doing.
