I recently started re-watching the series Sherlock starring Benedict Cumberbatch.
I’d forgotten just how yummy he is in the role. But why?
His Sherlock Holmes is off-the-charts brilliant, as self-proclaimed high-functioning sociopath. He shows off at every opportunity and and shamelessly manipulates his poor friend Watson with no remorse.
Is it his androgynous sex appeal? His wanton disregard for the feelings of others that oozes self-confidence?
I haven’t a clue.
All I know is that watching him play Sherlock is an absolute delight.
But it occurred to me that I know nothing about Benedict Cumberbatch, the man.
So I went down a little rabbit hole and discovered his best celebrity impressions (not bad!), Benedict Cumberbatch plays with puppies (cheesy but adorable) and Benedict playing the Three Word Game with Jimmy Fallon (😂😂😂.)
He’s been on countless “Sexiest Man Alive” lists and has been dubbed, “The Thinking Woman’s Crumpet.” (I do concur.)
He’s also a vocal supporter of various humanitarian causes. From my brief dive into the interwebs, he seems like a decent guy.
But I still know absolutely nothing about him. Not the real him, the soul looking out from behind his eyes.
Every one of us has a personality, a persona, a self-image. An ego. It’s the way we think of ourselves.
But that’s not you. That’s not me.
It would be absurd to confuse Benedict Cumberbatch with Sherlock Holmes, right?
But that’s what I’ve done. I’ve made up this person called Sherlock, and this person called Benedict, and in my head, I have some kind of relationship with him, when we’ve never even met.
I do that with my partner. My friends. My family.
I make up stories about who they are, what they want, and how they feel about me. Sometimes these stories are sweet, but often they’re judgemental and insecure.
And I do it to myself, too. On this morning when I’ve lobbing an undue amount of judgement at myself, I’m not seeing myself clearly, either. My image in the mirror is distorted by insecure thought.
I forget the truth:
Everyone is beautiful when I’m looking at them. Not their personality or the self-image they project. The divine stuff of life before all that.
And if I was seeing myself clearly, I’d know myself as beautiful, too.
So here I am, weeping at the reminder that life is always beautiful – until I think it’s not. And my thought is all I’m seeing when life looks ugly.
The world returns to clarity the instant I remember that, and everything is okay exactly as it is.
Including you and me.
I wonder what Benedict Cumberbatch (the real one) would think about sparking this insight? I like to think he’d be pleased. (But I’m making that up, too.)
Is there someone in your life who you’d love to see differently? What would you like to see?
Yours in love and play,
Steph
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