The proof that I sat my ass in a tub of awesome this August continues to mount: this morning, at coffee, one of my new friends, photographer by trade, semi-retired layabout by choice, and all-around fascinating fellow Virgo a few miles down the road (both literally and metaphorically), offered to tell me what was wrong with me, woo-woo-style. (What? Some of the witchiest people I know walk among us as straights.)
A modest titter of horror rippled around the table when he made the suggestion, and I’m pretty sure there was a second wave when I jumped at it. (Although that could have been Judge Colleen kicking in. It’s been known to happen.) Why don’t you tell her what’s right with her?
His reply, My superpower only works one way, was delicious. But mine was the reason I was really interested: What’s wrong? makes a great to-do list.
I’m kidding, but I’m not. Because while I’m all for knowing your strengths, I read the book, and I’ve had various other witchy people give me various other witchy kinds of readings for the same reason, my bottom line with all this self-improvement stuff is illumination of dark corners and assistive devices for finding blind spots. I get what I’m good at, for the most part, enough to know where to spend my time getting better at it. And I’m getting better at seeing what trips me up. So I see the illumination of problems or flaws or “faults” just as advanced instruction on the finer points of the machinery.
I can fly; now I want my instrument license.