Scars

When i was eight years old i thought it would be cool to ride down the hill in front of my Grandparent's house on a skateboard...

...on my stomach.

common sense meets child meets asphalt meets face.

OUCH!!

I had this hideous set of cuts and scabs straight down my face for a long time.  Wasn't one of my finer moments, but thankfully I don't carry any scars from that incident.

When I was twelve I was again at my Grandparent's house and I had bought my first $5 knife from the flea market and again decided to not really think about what I was doing.  My thumb on my right hand has this clear line that runs from the tip down about an inch or so.

Again, OUCH!!!

We all have wounds from life.  Not just the physical wounds, but deep emotional wounds that if left untreated can leave a remembrance for a lifetime.  I have scars.  I will always carry some of these with me.  Just like my hand, they fade.  But even today I know how they guide my decisions.

I can be very closed off and guarded at times.  My heart can lock down and go into self-preservation mode easily.  I've lost some people in my past because of that.  I will tell much of my story to just about anyone that wants to hear, but I reserve the deepest parts of me to a select few.

I don't want to make the mistakes that lead to more wounds, and definitely not more scars, but how can I live without taking chances.  It's not about putting myself on a skateboard on a hill - on my stomach.  But if I don't reach out and let the life in me LIVE, why am I even here?

So no playing with knives.  Though I still carry one.

I want to experience life.  And even if I look down at my hand and remember how I got the scar, I don't feel that pain any more.  It's less and less evident.  

I don't stop moving forward because of the hurt.