by January Sadler

        After all this time, I still do not comprehend why we judge each other based on outside appearances. Here I sit with my beautiful glass casing, nice plump shape, and full of scented goodness. For a moment imagine yourself in my predicament. I was created and formed by no choice of my own. I am stuck with my shell and innards. I didn’t get to choose if I had an elongated neck, the coloring of my wax, a charming flower design, or a dainty bottom.

I try not to let the complexities of picking the perfect jar get to me, as I have a great deal to offer.  Yet, I find myself falling prey, at times, to envy and jealously towards what is considered perfect. Who am I to try and convince someone what I am about? Why would I bother with the usual introductions and niceties? Would it even matter?

          It’s all about the correct sizes, shapes, and colors. We all bend to the ideals of society, wanting to fit in and I like to think of myself as being strong and capable of ignoring it.  I’ve never stopped hoping that someone would take a brief moment, look past my brown dull color, not judge my appearance, and open my lid to take in the scrumptious chocolate chip aroma.

         Every day, I sit and watch people walk by, looking for the perfect jar, that will fit in the perfect spot on their perfect table, and add a certain class or fit the feng shui of the room. Over and over, they ooh and aww about my acquaintances across the aisle or next to me.

         One person squeals with joy “this one matches perfectly with my pillows,” as I get pushed out of the way of a well-rounded crimson jar with a jade colored bow tied ribbon. Another one shrieks “oh my God, isn’t this so adorable,” while she bumps into the previous, knocking the jar from her hand. The disillusioned looks on their equally polished faces never change, even after the tall, thin, yellow and white laced jar shatters revealing nothing inside – complete emptiness. The jar’s charm only reached its artificial lining.

         One by one, the left side of the shelf starts to empty out. One by one, the right side starts to clear. One by one, I am left alone.

Photo temporarily borrowed from The Jar Store