What is the best thing about you?

 

Most families with young children have certain four-letter words they aren’t allowed to use, for some it’s poop, for others, it’s fart, but for me, it was best. My mom always told me I wasn’t allowed to have best friends because ranking and labeling people isn’t healthy. Words like “best” enable this paradox of good and bad or right and wrong. But what makes something good or bad anyway? Everyone always says a “good” person does the “right” thing even when it’s hard. But who is to say what the “right” thing even is? Who decided they were the moral authority on “rightness”? Personally, while categorizing things is in our human nature, I prefer to radically accept what is, rather than judge and label things. Things will ebb and flow, change may be “good” or it may be “bad” but most often, it just simply is. With that, I cannot tell you what my “best” quality is; all I can say are the things I know about myself. For example, I play the harp. When I tell people this, I often get asked, “well, are you any good?” and I never know how to respond. In comparison to other harpists, can I read music faster? No. Have I performed in public more often? Possibly. Do I practice more often? No. Am I a good harpist? Define good. 

When I was in primary school, my fellow classmate and desk neighbor (for the sake of storytelling, we’ll call them Shelly) would tap my forehead and say “hey, Frankenstein” every time I sat down at my desk. I’d go home at least once a week bawling to my mom. “But Mommy! I don’t want to look like Frankenstein!” I took it so personally that I even decided it was time to cut myself some bangs to cover up my forehead. Oh, how that was a mistake. Several years later, another classmate started to outline a square every time they’d passed me in the hallway and mouth the words box-head. I took these words to heart (along with bobble-head, square-face, and huge-head, a couple of my personal favorites). Looking back, I just wish I would have realized I did, and still do, have a really big head. Along with the rest of my insecurities, I denied having a big head because of the societal beauty standards that told me certain things were bad or ugly. 

So, no. I am not going to answer what my “best” quality is, because I try not to let myself fall into believing there is such a thing as good or bad. However, if I don’t tell you something about myself, that kind of defeats the point of this essay, doesn’t it? To me, a better question would’ve been “what is your favorite quality about yourself?” or “what do others like about you?” to which I would answer. Part of me would definitely want to say my favorite quality about myself is my big head, just out of spite, but I am not going to do that. 

While yes, I don’t think there should ever be a definitive list of all the rights and wrongs and goods and bads, I do believe pride and appreciation of personal growth can be extremely beneficial for one’s well-being. I am proud of myself for learning to appreciate who I am and for developing a healthy relationship with the things I love and value. I love my three-legged cat and pink eyeliner and true-crime podcasts and painting on my bedroom walls and making messes. I have come to a point in my life where I am proud of these things and don’t care whether people think they are good or bad. If I had to choose, I would say my favorite thing about myself is that I know and accept who I am, big head and all.