I embrace my flaws. I think all of us are supposed to have flaws. I think when you show there’s flaws in it, thats when it’s flawless”   ~ StoryBoard P

 

I once saw a music teacher turn bright red from her shoulder blades to her hairline, apologizing profusely to her students when she blew her horn off key. Her shame was palpable. She put her horn down, threw up her hands in dismay, and asked her students to forgive her.

 

She asked them to pretend they didn’t hear what she just did.

 

But the students didn’t really hear what she did. They didn’t take note of her blunder. They were suddenly very busy processing another message.  What they heard, loud and clear, and to their own dismay, was it’s not okay to make a mistake.  It’s not okay to show a flaw. And if you do, you must  cover it up and apologize.

 

I am the first to be awed by a performance done flawlessly. The figure ice skater that never wobbles after hurtling herself through the air, or the slam poet who has perfect cadence and memorization. It is not my hope that someone messes up. My concern is more what happens to us in everyday moments: in our conversations, in our relationships and at work and recreation, once we feel we have mis-stepped.

 

When we make mistakes gracefully, (and by gracefully I mean we don’t get blown over or stymied with shame by our blunder) we have the opportunity to connect with and teach those who witnessed us. When our voices shake in front of the microphone, or we stumble on the dance floor, or we can admit we don’t have the answer to a question, we have the potential for our audience to cheer us on, and in turn, cheer themselves on thinking of their own tumbles, their own shortcomings.
Keep reading! Keep dancing! Go find the answer and learn something new! When we get up, or move on, everyone gets up and moves with us. If we dwell in our mistakes, everyone gets stuck with us. It’s not about the mistake. Its what we do after the mistake that matters.

 

Watch dancer StoryBoard P when he stops and starts again or trips a bit over his feet. He doesn’t apologize, he doesn’t ask us not to see it or pretend it never happened. He simply smiles and keeps moving. He shows just how okay it is to stumble – especially when trying something new.