When a friend dedicated his one-minute #sorrynotsorry outtake reel to me, I considered it the highest honor, because Facebook, Instagram, and Pinterest subscribers rarely show their fails. Instead social media enthusiasts present a filtered version of life.

The best smile. The cutest outfit. The most amazing event. The cleanest house. The winning scoreboard. The Homecoming Queen glamour shots.  The Harvard University acceptance letter. It’s the prettified version of life.

Oddly, my favorite photo album is our Christmas card fails.

It begins with Christmas 1998, and our two-year-old and two-month old on the couch together. None of these First Christmas photos were chosen. Christine won’t look at the camera. Baby Julia drools and plops over on her side. Toddler Christine won’t stop sharing her smarmy grin.

Later pages feature further photo flops. Too bad I didn’t mail these funny photos along with a Christmas letter that told the truth about all our outtakes. That reality would have resonated with readers.

So, when my tattoo artist friend Eric posted one of his fantastically informative videos on Facebook, our mutual friend complimented his onscreen skill and natural talent. Eric disagreed and proved his point by releasing raw, unedited video. In between the “skill and natural talent” was a messy minute of eye rolling, pausing, scratching, staring off into space.

I loved the quirky outtakes and suggested he edit them together. After all, which of your child’s yearly school pictures did you like best? The quirky “mistake” was more endearing than the showy shot.

I couldn’t have been more thrilled when Eric not only edited his outtakes but dedicated his performance to me.

I was honored because he was vulnerable and transparent about progress and growth. So unafraid to show the real Eric. His video endeared us to him.

Then I realized how sharing an unfiltered version of ourselves encourages others.

What are some of your outtakes? I’ll start.

I’m afraid I don’t have a video of this fail, so you’ll have to imagine me wearing a nice dress to the Seattle Mariners game for one of my National Anthem stints. When I began singing at home plate, my face and name blasted across the Kingdome big screen, I had the horrible realization I had started on the wrong pitch. It was going to be too high; I was headed for danger. “And the rockets red glare,” was pretty glaring and “The land of the free,” was anything but.

It was a fail. An outtake. One humbling experience, a teachable moment, a great party anecdote.

How about you? I dare you to share! Dedicate some outtakes to me. I’d be honored.