I know, I know ... the last thing we need is one more play on this obscenely over-referenced movie title, but it makes my point perfectly because ...
It's January in the Northwest, and I honestly can't remember the last time I saw the sun. It probably wasn't that long ago, but this is the effect of the heavy wool blanket we call Seattle winter. Even when it's dry, it wrings damp with weather-memory.
What I want most at the moment is to sleep. When I wake up, it's dark (even if daylight has arrived, it's dark) and my eyelids are leaden and I want to go back to dreaming. In the evenings, my mind is heavy and dull. I watch TV even when there's nothing on, casting an occasional glance toward my office, right next to the TV room. It's filled with projects I could be working on, projects that once seemed exciting, urgent, necessary ... but the distance seems too far and tiresome to cross.
My mind sends up an alarm: Where's my motivation? Could this be depression? I've been told I have seasonal affective disorder (such a stretch, in this part of the country). And this year I am attempting a winter without chemical antidepressants or Seattle's version, coffee. Trying instead the approach of optimal nutrition, a few critical supplements, very little sugar, plenty of exercise.
So I run through my internal checklist: I am not weepy or overly negative. I do not feel short-tempered and irritable. I am sleeping and eating in healthy amounts; going out with friends or to exercise does not seem to require a superhuman effort. No, I am not depressed.
I am just ... sleepy. My mind does not feel as alert as it did a few months ago, after a few months of sun. I am firing on fewer cylinders. I am, perhaps, more inclined to pluck the low-hanging pun than to reach for a sparklier, more original blog-post title. I am feeling a little less ... um ... perfect. Most days, a little less inclined even to try to "do it all."
But I am up, and moving, and working, and a casual observer probably wouldn't know the difference. So the question is, just for now, can I accept my greyer, fuzzier mornings and evenings? Can I accept that I might need a full eight hours of sleep (OK, nine) instead of seven, just for a while? Can I set aside those "extra" projects without guilt? Just until they call to me again?
Must I curse the weather and pathologize my inner response? Call it a sinister name, vow to defeat it with harsh chemicals, artificial light, and caffeine? Or can I just accept what is, today, for now?
Showing posts with label conscious imperfction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label conscious imperfction. Show all posts
Monday, January 17, 2011
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Conscious Imperfction
*pokes head up like a groundhog*
Is it safe to come out now? Is everyone gone?
It's so strange to be writing here again after all these months. At first I just planned to be away for a few days. (Or, more likely, I didn't plan to be away at all ... just got busy with other things.) But the longer I stayed away, the harder it became to come back, until I thought maybe it'd be best just to let this go.
It's a new year, though, and I have a new idea. It came out of a conversation I was having the other day, sharing some of my pre-holiday stress that comes from wanting everything to look just right, wanting everything to be ... perfect.
My friend suggested that whenever I felt that familiar anxiety that comes from wanting things to be perfect, I could do the opposite: fly in the face of perfectionism. An image sprang to mind immediately: Instead of the scrubbed, shining holiday table, with its matching cutlery and store-bought centerpiece, always falling short of my Martha Stewart intentions ... a crazy holiday table with all mismatched plates, placemats, and silverware. The image made me giggle. It felt warm and friendly. To my surprise, I liked it.
I started to think about all of the other ways that being consciously imperfect might feel warmer, friendlier than the alternative. Which is not perfection, of course -- because perfection is impossible for us humans -- but unconscious imperfection. Striving for perfection, and falling short. That striving feels tight, like a smile when you don't mean it. Conscious imperfection feels like a belly laugh.
What does it look like in practice? I honestly have no idea. I've spent so much of my (almost) 40 years practicing unconscious imperfection, that I can barely wrap my head around what the opposite would be like. So I'm making it my mission to explore this in 2011. Maybe it's as simple as ... Messing up the dance steps in Zumba, because my way seems like more fun. Leaving the dinner dishes overnight, so I have more time to play. Hitting "publish" on a blog post before I've edited the life out of it. Ordering dessert first, eating it with my fingers, and getting the tip wrong.
Doing something--anything--instead of being paralyzed by the fear of doing the wrong thing. Knowing that I'll get it wrong, but missteps are still steps, they usually lead you somewhere you need to be, and hell: life ain't about standing still.
When I thought of blogging about this, my first impulse was that announcing my plan was a bad idea. I'm too inconsistent, I thought. I lack follow-through. Why start something (again) I might not get around to finishing? But then I thought ... Perfect!
The goal is imperfection. How can I fail?
Is it safe to come out now? Is everyone gone?
It's so strange to be writing here again after all these months. At first I just planned to be away for a few days. (Or, more likely, I didn't plan to be away at all ... just got busy with other things.) But the longer I stayed away, the harder it became to come back, until I thought maybe it'd be best just to let this go.
It's a new year, though, and I have a new idea. It came out of a conversation I was having the other day, sharing some of my pre-holiday stress that comes from wanting everything to look just right, wanting everything to be ... perfect.
My friend suggested that whenever I felt that familiar anxiety that comes from wanting things to be perfect, I could do the opposite: fly in the face of perfectionism. An image sprang to mind immediately: Instead of the scrubbed, shining holiday table, with its matching cutlery and store-bought centerpiece, always falling short of my Martha Stewart intentions ... a crazy holiday table with all mismatched plates, placemats, and silverware. The image made me giggle. It felt warm and friendly. To my surprise, I liked it.
I started to think about all of the other ways that being consciously imperfect might feel warmer, friendlier than the alternative. Which is not perfection, of course -- because perfection is impossible for us humans -- but unconscious imperfection. Striving for perfection, and falling short. That striving feels tight, like a smile when you don't mean it. Conscious imperfection feels like a belly laugh.
What does it look like in practice? I honestly have no idea. I've spent so much of my (almost) 40 years practicing unconscious imperfection, that I can barely wrap my head around what the opposite would be like. So I'm making it my mission to explore this in 2011. Maybe it's as simple as ... Messing up the dance steps in Zumba, because my way seems like more fun. Leaving the dinner dishes overnight, so I have more time to play. Hitting "publish" on a blog post before I've edited the life out of it. Ordering dessert first, eating it with my fingers, and getting the tip wrong.
Doing something--anything--instead of being paralyzed by the fear of doing the wrong thing. Knowing that I'll get it wrong, but missteps are still steps, they usually lead you somewhere you need to be, and hell: life ain't about standing still.
When I thought of blogging about this, my first impulse was that announcing my plan was a bad idea. I'm too inconsistent, I thought. I lack follow-through. Why start something (again) I might not get around to finishing? But then I thought ... Perfect!
The goal is imperfection. How can I fail?
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