Scars

You can approach scars one of two ways: You can hide them because of shame or you can celebrate them because of the stories they allow you to tell.

I tend to fall into the second camp.

I’m covered with scars. Over 7o of them actually.  And they’re mostly from having suspicious moles carved out of my skin.  Of those 70, three were melanomas. And one of those cancers was malignant.  I look like I fought pirates and lost. But each scar is a blessing. Each tells an individual story of survival.  If I didn’t have them, I’d be six-feet under the ground. And I can guarantee I wouldn’t look any better than I do now.

Scars don’t just have to be on your body. They can be in your mind. Or as part of your history. I think about Mississippi and all the trauma our state has been through.  Hurricanes, tornadoes floods, civil war battles, racial strife, bombings — all moments of great strain on the people of this state.  Some don’t like to talk about the tough times.  They like to cover up the scars. Not me. I want to learn all I can from those moments of pain.  I want to tell (and hear) the stories survival has brought.

Scars make life more interesting. They make life worth celebrating. I live in a place that has its fair share of scars and like the my own set, I’m thankful for it.