Online, we all posture like we’re at the cool table, that mythical place we dreamed about when elementary school ended and we found ourselves at middle.

We filter and layer and fix and crop, until the moment that we are sharing looks very little like the moment we just experienced.

We think everyone else is at the cool table but the truth is we’re all misfit toys. That’s not that problem. Perfect is a punk, forever promising you it’s possible, forever dancing just on the outsides of your grasp. No, being on the island of misfit toys is the best, but the problem is we think we’re the only ones there.

We think the island has a population of one, as if we’re the mayor or the governor. Dare we were to turn our eyes away from the water and look inland though we’d realize something amazing.

We’re not alone. Everyone is here with us.

The island of misfit toys has the best parties. It has the best community. It has the best relationships.

Because there you don’t have to be cool.

You just have to be brave. You have to admit you don’t have it all together. That you’re not perfect.

I don’t have it all together. I’m prone to getting spun out at the tiniest bits of criticism online. I’m about to publish my 5th book in April and still get crushed by the insecurity of thinking “I’m not a real writer.” Jenny and I had a fight last weekend in Hobby Lobby over whether to get a pre-lit fake Christmas tree or an unlit fake Christmas tree. (Which broke my marriage vow to never get in fights in establishments with rhyming names. Hobby Lobby, Piggly Wiggly, 7-eleven, etc.)

I don’t even know where the cool table is anymore.

But I do know this, there’s a whole island of misfit toys and I’m on it.

And if you’re not perfect, you’re on it too.

Take your eyes of the horizon and the promise of a cool table just over the next wave.

Turn around and see how fun the island actually is.