I've sat down every weekend for three or four weeks to write in this little space. It has been calling my name. But whenever I sit down to write, I constantly get distracted, or my thoughts are too messy to try to get down and sort through all in one sitting. So I spill open whatever needs to be said at that moment, however imperfect it may be, and then life happens. I answer the call, flip the laundry, and do the work that pays the bills. The words I type are hidden away in the drafts on my computer. They are like oil paintings; they stay fluid for a few days to a week, waiting for me to come back to them, edit them, and make them beautiful and ready to publish. But as days become weeks and time moves forward, they cure and harden. Getting tacky at first, then solid. I come back weeks, maybe even a month later, to see my thoughts dried on the page, trying to remember my original point, the original purpose for them. They are beautiful in their own right, but not the final finished work I wanted them to be. I let too much time sit and pass in between.
I want to show up more often in this space and share my thoughts and photographs. Yet it seems like every time I get interrupted or distracted. Or other responsibilities show up on the to-do list.
Just writing this far in this piece, I got up seven times to attend to something else. And now I'm coming back a week later, on a Sunday, to try and finish what I started.
When I was getting ready yesterday — putting my makeup on with the window open on a Saturday morning — a thought came to me. There are two reasons why I feel like I can't sit down to finish anything. One is not giving myself time to pause. The other is the fear of not being perfect.
I never give myself enough room to pause. I want to see a moment and then feel it, whether that feeling is good or bad. I'm always on the move, going and going and going, on to the next thing.
This last year was a good example of that. Between getting engaged to my now husband, moving from our apartments into a house together, wedding planning, actually getting married, working a stressful full-time job, freelancing, and then, near the end of the year, getting a new job… there were about 12 months when there wasn't any room to pause and breathe. With a significant change on the horizon, the initial desire to pause, reflect, and sit in a moment went to the wayside.
While most of last year's change was good and wonderful — marriage has been the most powerful, grounding, moving act of love and comfort I've ever experienced — several months later, I'm still processing it all.
Even now, big things still require my attention, and the focus I crave dwindles. I'm feeling the pull to focus on many creative projects, spend time with family, figure out the friction I feel between my career and myself, have the desire to start my own business, and plan for changes I know are coming. I question if there will ever be time to pause. I just want to be content where I am at.
The other side of this conversation is perfection.
There are many creative outlets I feel like I'm passing by because of the constant pressure to be perfect at it.
This is something I've been actively deconstructing. It's hard, though, because there is friction between this part of me and the person my job requires me to be 40 hours out of the week.
The job that requires me to strive toward perfection and tells me that the margin for error is zero. And yet, I'm actively telling myself to move through the imperfection, to embrace it, and not let perfectionism's weight make me stagnant.
These constricting forces are fighting within me. The go-getter, always hustling, people-pleasing perfectionist, and the slower, artful visionary who needs to slow down enough to get the words out she's been trying to say for weeks.
But this is it. This is the life. Balancing what pays the bills to survive and practicing a way of living that is authentic, slow, and expressing what you need to create to feel like you are fully alive. Slowly chipping away at the oil painting before it has time to set and dry on the canvas.
Yesterday morning, when looking at my reflection on the wall, I saw the shadow of myself and all its possibilities and contradictions, imperfections and flaws.
This is as good as it gets, the beauty and the pain combined.
I gave myself time to finish writing this today, and I must publish it imperfectly. It will just sit in my drafts, never seeing the light if I don't. I need to do this to give hope to the things I have to say that have been sitting patiently, waiting, inside my chest. That one day, I'll give myself enough room and enough grace to let the words go and be released into the world how they may.
In this world of constant hustling, the conscious act of slowing down, pausing, and embracing imperfection will never be accepted. Here is to being okay with that.