I. AM. NOT. PERFECT.

In fact, I’m so far from it, it’s laughable.

I’m like the the little engine that could, but I can’t, ‘cause I’m too disorganized and sporadic and all over the place and so I just haphazardly, semi-merrily choo choo along while my anxious personality requires that I fear the worst and my annoyingly optimistic nature says “stay positive” and “hope for the best.”

I am seriously a mutt of human.

But let’s be real…people like mutts.

They are well-received.

Why?

Because they represent a little of all of us — our best parts and our not so fabulous ones.

Our good decisions and the ones that coulda used a little more consideration.

Our eternal desire to be the best version of ourselves and our blind acceptance that we be the version we are…until we’re not…and that’s okay.

While it’s cool and all to be pure and perfect, I favor the breed of human that’s a little more

like me and like my dog —

rough around the edges,

beautifully blemished,

and audaciously authentic.