People are flawed. It has been this way from the dawn of time, from Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden throughout history even to today. It will continue. It is inevitable. I know this because I am one. I am flawed. I have issues. I have baggage. Heck, I have steamer trunks with leather straps and brass fittings. I can be difficult. I have been told in no uncertain terms by many people throughout my life just how messed up I can be. There are dozens of people I have left in my wake that will regale anyone who listens about my shortcomings.
I am pompous—affectedly and irritatingly grand, solemn, or self-important, according to dictionary.com—and according to a colleague of mine in college. I express myself as if everything I say is ultimate truth, as if it holds the weight of scripture. Heck I even write it down so it can be a lasting testament to the ages.
I am condescending and think everyone else is stupid—if you ask my first wife, anyway. I never give credence to the ideas or thoughts of others, simply because they are clueless and ignorant of the reality of any given situation. I talk to people as though they have the intellect of a grade-schooler because, compared to me, they do.
I am a slob according to an ex-girlfriend who used to live with me (and I think my mother would agree—at least when I was living in her house). I never bother to pick up after myself and I seem to think the dishes will wash themselves. My laundry will suffice until the clothes walk to the laundry room on their own power.
Yes, I can be hard to live with. I hate cooking, I waste money, I am selfish and only looking out for my own interests and ignore any and everyone else’s. I don’t communicate and I keep my feeling bottled up inside. I am a brick wall; inflexible and unyielding to change. It’s always my way or my way—there is no highway option. OK, anyone who knows me knows this last bit is patently false. These statements are no truer than the first part. I love cooking, I am adaptable and I am quite expressive, but it doesn’t seem to matter. My great flaw is that I am impossible to live with.
Or am I?
Am I pompous or just self-assured? Am I condescending or just trying to be clear? Am I a slob or just disorganized? These are just degrees of the same character traits we all posses. One thing I do know is that I am a self-actualized man who knows what he wants in life and will do whatever it takes to accomplish his goals. Does that make me pompous? Does that make me impossible to live with? Perhaps it does. If so, I guess everyone will just have to learn to accept it.
And I don’t think it is too much to ask that we learn to accept this. Everybody has flaws. There is no perfect person walking this planet—even in Hollywood. The chances of finding a perfect person diminish with each step you take, since a perfect person would not associate with imperfect people. It’s like the old saying: I won’t have anyone as a friend who would have me as a friend, or I wouldn’t want anyone who would want me. It may just boil down to knowing what you want. If you don’t know what you want, then you will never attain it. It is even more ironic—and sad—when you finally discover what you want only to learn that you had it and cast it aside. I know what I want. The greatest flaw many people have may very well be not knowing their own heart. They are clueless and want to spend their life looking across the fence for the greener pastures—never satisfied with what they have, because they don’t know what they want. That is a tragic flaw.