Holly D. Mattson

712634_lady_bug How many times has a bug landed on you and you just swatted it away without thinking twice? Or do you--like me--discriminate against certain bugs? (Spiders: bad. Ladybugs: good.)

If a ladybug lands on you it is considered to be good luck. And that little ladybug that landed on my right ankle this afternoon got me thinking about all the times I've found myself swatting away people. (Literally, not figuratively--of course.) Who are you? Where'd you come from? You're not a part of the plan. Shoo.

What would happen if I turned that perspective around and considered it a small stroke of luck each time a new person crossed my path? No, not every one of these people needs to play a starring role--or even a protagonistic role. But more and more so, I'm starting to realize that every one and every thing is here for a reason. Perhaps it's to inspire me in some way. Or he or she references a band that becomes a new favorite. Or challenges me. Maybe he or she simply offers up a kind smile or a good laugh when it's most needed.

It is also possible that I might be the one who has something to offer that person. There's no telling, really, what the reason for the encounter may be. Perhaps hindsight will offer up a few clues. But more often than not, these people come and go in our lives with no more than a second's thought.

I am certain, however, that the more often I make an effort to see the good fortune, the more likely I am to hit the jackpot.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. (Ladybug photo from Alex Bruda @ stock.xchng)

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imperfectly yours I have always fancied myself to be a pretty observant person, taking mental note of all the random little things that often go unregistered. Like the two small cups of Dunkin' Donuts coffee one of my old professors used to bring to every class. Or the ladybug design on the PLU sticker on my apple. Or the surprising number of people at the grocery store who buy those sugar wafer cookies. So, when I was climbing across the passenger seat of my car a few days ago, getting my trusty l'il Honda ready for its end-of-lease inspection, I couldn't believe what I noticed: a sticky mark on my windshield from where a piece of tape once held the spec sheet on my car.

I've had this car for three and a half years now, and I'm just noticing this tape on my windshield? What else have I been living with, ignorant of its existence? True, my purse and shoes don't often match--yet they're not artfully mismatched in that Clinton- and Stacy-approved way. I've spied a poppyseed in my teeth hours after eating an everything bagel for breakfast. I sometimes wear a gold ring along with my stainless steel watch. The horror, I know. But at the end of the day, who cares really. Does it make me less intelligent, less presentable, less successful? No, no, and no. So what if there's a line of sticky gunk on my passenger side windshield that has been there for the past 41 months.

But if you ever see me walking around with the 100% lambswool tag hanging from the sleeve of my coat or (gasp, shudder) the little white stitches on the back waistband of my pants, then you can judge me. Until then, I'm owning up to my smudges and imperfections.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. ("Imperfectly Yours" photo credit Mel B. via Creative Commons--thank you!)

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