In a newsletter on scrapbooking—a craft I do not do, but watch from afar; all crafting is porn for me, as I am completely unmotivated by the possibility it will come out imperfect…more on that later—I stumble on this beautiful commentary on creation and fear:
Thinking this is the one and only chance to tell this story so it simply must be perfect. Oh man, what a way to stop you in your tracks. What does perfect mean to you? And who is the judge? Perfect is so very relative. What is perfect to me in this moment may be entirely imperfect to you. To me, perfect is actually taking time to tell your stories. Risking that bit of yourself to document your experience. Perfect is carving out a bit of time to be creative. Perfect is embracing the imperfection inherent in creating something that comes from your heart, and your head, and your hands. Let it go. Simply begin writing. Tell the story in simple, plain sentences one word at a time. Keep writing until all the words have spilled onto the page and then go back and edit. Perfect is actually telling the story rather than letting fear keep you from sharing the lives and lessons of your family.
I sit down across from my therapist and she has me shuffle a deck of Wisdom Cards. The card I pull out reads:
I do not have to become perfect, I am perfect just as I am.
If I wait to become who I want to be when I am perfect, I will be waiting all my life.
I read this article in the New York Times. Two days later a loved one forwards the link to me.