Tag Archives: perfectionist

This Can Be Enough

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Late,
and my body says,
Hey woman, get in bed already.

But I have this writing practice,
and I want to allow the words to come.

I wait for something beautiful,
inspiring, meaningful.

I wait for some kind of amazing insight,
some wisdom from beyond.

But it’s late,
and I’m tired,
and my body is telling to get in bed.

Maybe there is something profound
in this listening to my body.
Maybe I don’t have to make these words
better than they already are.

Maybe for once this can be enough.

Down to the Wire

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Back aches
It’s late
Time to sleep
Stay awake.

After all this time spent,
this workshop better be damn good.

And that’s all I have to say.

 

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Back to the grindstone.  So much more to do before I’m ready.  This is exactly what I didn’t want–working down to the last minute, but somehow it’s what I always end up doing. Time to practice some compassion and maybe let go of some of the unrealistic expectations.  This won’t be perfect, because nothing is.  Yet everything taken together is perfect, so maybe I can just trust in the everything.

Climb the Mountain…Blow It Down

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Just a quick check in to say, I have a mountain of laundry that threatens to bury us all, and an equally large mountain of resistance to doing the laundry. I want to finish my daughter’s rainbow tote, I want to rest, maybe do some restorative yoga–I feel exhausted from this week. I’d rather create than do more work to keep the house in order.

This morning, as I was trying to help smooth the breakfast routine along, I was rinsing dishes at the sink thinking about what stands in front of me when I sit down to write. I always have this feeling of being blocked, like I really don’t have anything interesting to say, and even the first words I type will be wrong, meaningless, unimportant. If I try to come up with a title first, then there is resistance to that process, and the thought that the title won’t be pertinent.  I might try to reassure myself that I can choose a title later, but then there’s an argument to that thought too–I need to have an idea before I proceed, otherwise this will all be blather. A title gives an idea of what is coming. It helps to bring some structure to a piece.

So it came to me in a flash, all of these fear thoughts from the perfectionist and the inner critic–they really have no substance. Like really well-designed scenery on the stage of a play, they look substantial, impressive, maybe even quite real–but in the end, if you stroll behind them, you’ll see that they’re just an illusion. But they’re BIG, and intimidating, and it takes a minute for me to step back and have a good look at them; very often because they are so relentless, I might not even realize that I am not those thoughts I’m having about myself.

If I do step back, I see Mt. Everest. It’s huge, it’s impassable, and on all sides of me there are boulders, crevasses, huge chunks of ice. But no wait. That’s not really Mt. Everest. That’s just the scenery on the stage of a play. If I stroll behind it, I see–it’s a cardboard Mt. Everest! One great big breath and I blow the scenery down. Now the path is clear ahead of me.

Now I can write.

So today, I will climb the mountain of laundry…I will push through the mountain of resistance…I will blow down the mountain of fear. The first mountain will take some time to tackle. The second will take some discipline and will. The third takes just one big breath.

I can do this.

 

Tote

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Not quite finished, but still looking good!

Not quite finished, but still looking good!

I bought a sewing machine for myself one year ago this month. I was intimidated by it at first; it took me some time to take the thing out of the box and start playing around with it.  The perfectionist in me is always really afraid I’ll make some kind of horrendous, irreparable mistake, and then the whole world will fall apart. It speaks to me with this whining voice of fear and says, “You better not, you might mess up!” But I was determined to learn how to sew, intrigued by all the beautiful crafts I’ve seen people make with their machines, so I ignored the perfectionist’s fearful admonishments, opened the user manual, and got down to teaching myself the basics.

Little by little, I managed to get the machine to wind some bobbin thread. I learned how to thread the machine, change stitches according to different needs, replace the needle, how to backstitch, turn corners, change the presser foot, troubleshoot, and many more little techniques I never knew went into sewing.  One year later, I’ve made a couple of quilts, 3 fleece blankets, 70 flaxseed and lavender eye pillows (many of them with names embroidered on them), and three pairs of pajama pants. I even put pockets in the pair of pants I made for my husband, after he tried them on and told me he needed a pocket for his chapstick…

The perfectionist dovetails nicely with the inner critic, whom I discuss in this post, and who as you know likes to tell me repeatedly, and in no uncertain terms, “Don’t even bother.” If I listened to those two, I would never attempt anything creative. Luckily, sometimes I manage to listen to the kid in me who wants to play again, who wants to dabble in this or that, to spend time doing things with my hands, making things. I’m so glad I listen to the voice that wants to make things, because making things is fun.

These days I’m working on tote bags. The picture above shows the third one, and it’s about halfway done.  This one is for my daughter. She saw the rainbow fabric at the store sometime last summer, and I couldn’t resist getting her some, because rainbows. I had no idea what I was going to do with it, but you don’t need to have an idea of what you’re going to make in order to get pretty fabric, you just need to be able to appreciate the beauty of it, its colors, the texture, that’s enough.

I’ve really been enjoying making these reversible totes, and I’ve learned a lot in the process. The first tote I’ve nicknamed my “measure twice, cut once” tote, because I screwed up on my measurements and had to dig out additional fabric to make the thing work. The second tote should be called my “patience is a virtue” tote, because dang did I ever have to get out the seam ripper multiple times because I hurried through the pocket stage and sewed them in wrong. I just wanted to get the thing done, got distracted, and paid for it by having to backtrack.

Wouldn’t you know every time I make a mistake–even a teeny tiny, little, itty bitty mistake–the perfectionist whines, and the critic lets loose with a cry of victory. This noise can be really distracting when I’m trying to get beyond the frustration I’m feeling and just fix the freakin’ mistake already. I honestly think one of the reasons I began sewing in the first place is so that I could see how making mistakes is not such a big deal after all. Somewhere deep down, I’m terribly afraid that the world will realize that I’m not perfect. It took me a while to get to that point, and it might take a while to train myself to be comfortable with the inevitable imperfection. It might be quite a long journey before I can embrace the humanness in me–the messy, up and down, success and failure, fun and not fun humanness in me.  But I know there’s hope. Even in the face of my worst mistakes, when it looks like the perfectionist and critic might win and send me back into a black hole of no creativity, all out shut-down, giving up, hopeless, lonely place, something inevitably calls me back and whispers, “You can try again.”

I’m so glad I have yoga. So glad I’ve been exploring the idea of transcending duality. It sheds some light on this process of reclaiming my creative self. I get to observe my thoughts jumping all over the place, and remember that the witness self within is unchanging in the midst of this infinitely changing universe. I can feel the anger and irritation arising, and realize that I have a choice, that I don’t have to be the victim of my own reactivity. I don’t have to remain in the prison of my conditioned thinking. I can create something different, now, today. I can witness the sunset, and appreciate it, knowing that its beauty is temporary, but the self who knows how to appreciate is limitless.

So maybe I’ll call this third tote my “self-realization” tote.