P@## #ff Perfect!

Nature...ever itself, without explanation or apology.. imperfectly perfect.

After an extended period of creative drought and being buried in busy I am back... and swearing! For anyone who knows me this is a giant and significant departure from the mask of the perpetual good girl, the endless pursuit of perfect.  Quite frankly, the pursuit of perfect has let me down and I am p@##d by how much time I have wasted chasing this meaningless goal. See, the thing about perfect is it is a floating target. I knew this. I have known this all along. Something else I know is this pursuit of perfect is actually the expression of a deep fear we glorious women hold that we are not loved or lovable. As we are. Exploring that painful fact, is .. well, painful, but necessary. I have been there, often. I have come to realize when my need for perfect raises its ugly head what I actually need in that moment is to love myself and feel loved. A fastidiously tidy home is cold comfort on a lonely day. And I have learnt lonely days come around more often if we are always beating ourselves up and failing to do things that are more deeply meaningful than anything in the realm of the perfect pursuit.
Plus, perfect, the disease is contagious. It hurts those around us because we start to badger and bind them with our expectations of  perfect. By not giving ourselves permission to be imperfect, we deny others this right. We fool ourselves with empty promises... that if only we were thinner, more beautiful, more successful/accomplished we would be happy. This disease spreads to our family and friends, if only my husband.. my children... and before we know it it eats us up, steals the air out of the room, constricts our soul and robs us of our power to love, be loved, be ourselves and let others breathe in being themselves. Our glorious, albiet flawed selves that make us human. Also, it prevents us from being grateful for what we have right now. It makes us envy and want, and compare and diminish. Case in point a recent morning ago,  I found myself registering for our local 10K/1/2 marathon/marathon event feeling like a poor excuse for an athlete, virtually apologetic because I am entering the shortest of those distances..too bad it is my first foray into competitive running in over 10 years (threshold enough at this stage) I wonder why I am apologising rather than celebrating... I realise, again I am banging my head against expectations of perfect.. comparing myself and coming up short...
This disease is making me unhappy, Is keeping me stuck in fear and feelings of inadequacy. Is quashing my creative talents and preventing me from owning my life and myself and taking steps to do what I deeply want to do rather than what I feel I should...

You know what takes real courage in this day and age? Letting go and living with the mess of real life. For me, and I am guessing many of us, that is a hell of a lot harder than subscribing to perfect. Perfect is not working is it girls? Let's be real and remember our worth is in us, not based on the state/size/cost of our home, achievements of ourselves or our children, the size or shape of our bodies or the amount of busy badges we wear. We are imperfectly perfect, everyone of us.
So ladies, let's lead a push back against perfect. Perfect can take a walk out of my life, thank you very much. Yep, Maria Kondo aka KonMari of the annoying art of tidying up and how happy and enlightened that is supposed to make us feel(no pressure) can just take her pint sized vertical stacked bundles and walk out of the room (or less polite terms for get out of my life!). P@#$ off perfect, Lets see where that leads us...

creative space....

my newly claimed creative space, between washing machine and bikes, a place of my own devising

I had such lofty dreams for this space, this blog! It would be a forum for sharing, for self-expression, a space to elevate the ordinary....how ambitious and confident my proclamations. The reality is I dived somewhat impulsively into full-time study at the end of last year and the time/space/energy for creativity shrunk and all but disappeared. As much as I have loved the challenge of study, the juggle has been immense and I have struggled with overwhelm and yearned for open time of my own. I had to relinquish aspects of my dream life, the domestic idle, I baked less bread, and passed on our beloved chickens, symbol of the good life, to a friend. And now that studies are out of the way for awhile, I find the space I once filled a little more empty, for those things that we don't give energy diminish with time.... my friendships are less and smaller than last year, my garden untamed and wild, and my domestic round needing an injection of soul. I yearn for the return of my happy hens, the picture of contentment, scratching companionship as I gardened... and for rekindling my art and writing... SO as a Christmas present to self  I have triumphantly laid claim to a creative space in our garage (previously given over entirely to my husbands love of all things bikes) and installed a rustic old kauri desk (a karmic chance find I swear) which Alexander lovingly sanded for me. I am not going to make any lofty promises to self, but I know I have made a big step already... to have a space to go to, to paint/draw/write and not have to always put away... a place to return to again and again when I find a moment... a space to invite my children and share in creativity together... Now all I need is the smell of baking bread, a good friend for coffee,  and the return of our contented hens...

if not a room of ones own, at least a space... a space to create, to be pour ones deepest self, to find solace, to dream, to remember and forget, to heal, to be inwardly quiet, to find flow