The Punchline.

Every Tuesday, I cut my hand in some way. It isn't on purpose, it just happens. Sometimes I try to put something on a shelf and skin my fingers on the side of the shelf that I should have avoided. Other times, the box cutter that I am using mistakes my finger for cardboard. I was looking at my hands and the various scrapes, scabs, and scars when I thought to myself that it speaks volumes about my character: I am clumsy.

In a sense, we are all just as clumsy. Some of us are physically clumsy, while others are socially awkward and clumsy. I speak from experience on both. I haven't always been this model of confidence and (at times) arrogant security.

When I was a teenager, while all of my 2 friends that I had were into sports and cars, I was interested in Star Trek and reading a good book. People would ask what I thought about "the Bears" and I would have to ask what sport these "bears" played. I was more interested in what Captain Sisko would do about the impending invasion by the Dominion or if Captain Janeway would ever get the crew of the U.S.S. Voyager back home to the Alpha Quadrant.

I didn't even pay attention to girls until I was 17 or 18. It wasn't that I didn't want "love". It was because I felt that I didn't deserve it or couldn't obtain it. Females weren't scary to me; rejection was. Luckily for me, I met the wrong girl and gained two things: confidence and the knowledge that I could do better. Almost 5 years later, I am confident that my life is the best that anyone can ask for in a life.

So, next week when I cut my hand, I'll wipe off the blood and be thankful for clumsiness.