I am not perfect.
(In fact, I am FAR from perfect.)
I am my own worst enemy.
I am my harshest critic.
For as easy going, flexible and forgiving as I can be…I very seldom award myself those same liberties.
I tend to be a perfectionist…at least when it comes to me, and my expectations of me.
I have big ideas...deep thoughts. And when those ideas or thoughts or feelings don’t seem perfect (or complete or logical or coherent), I keep them to myself.
That’s partially why I’ve missed (THREE +!) days on my NaBloPoMo goal for this month. It goes like this...I sit down to write, the weight of my obligation heavy on my mind. Clouding my thoughts. Suddenly it feels too hard, too much like a duty or a chore that I don’t want to “mess up” or “do wrong”. I worry instead that my thoughts are not complete or profound or even worth sharing. And so I don’t share them. And in not doing so, I've failed. At least in my eyes.
This is the vicious cycle of my life.
Sure...I would love to let loose. Lighten up. Give myself some freedom to just be me. Not the me I wish I was, or the me other people want or believe me to be. Just me. Just the way I am. Imperfect. Distractible. Unorganized. Conflicted. But also loyal, loving. Friendly and fun.
So I will try…to just be. Just write. Just share. Without too much over thinking or perfectionism. Don’t expect anything too deep or weighty, philosophical, insightful, or life-changing. I’ll leave that to people you find here, or here, or here. In trying to be perfect, I’m missing out on the chance to just live. And to capture that living here. Not in a picture perfect way I wish it could be/would be…but simply how it is. Real. Messy. And truly beautiful.