I did not know until a few years ago that I am a perfectionist. I thought perfectionists were determined to get things perfect or die trying.
I just quit. The pressure hits, I’m not sure I can produce something worthwhile, and I quit. I do not transform into a diamond under that pressure. I cave. Maybe I become sand? And then can be glass. I like that. Thanks for sticking with me while I worked through that.
I’m having a rough time lately. Because I am a perfectionist. Perfect is the enemy of Done or something like that. But you know what that also means? Done is the enemy of Perfect. Actually, that might be the way the phrase goes?
I’m rambling because I’ve got things to say that I don’t want to say. None of it is bad, it’s just what’s been swirling in my brain and I need to cross SHOULD I SAY THAT off my list of possible actions.
1) I got a message from FB today (when I first started writing, on July 23rd) that they had pulled the last of what I can see of my photos from my father’s FB profile. Good. I am glad. I am also still mad. Mad at him for letting me down to begin with (which is a euphemism for the abuse I experienced), mad at the planet that people can’t act right, mad at myself for not … look, it’s a long list, and I don’t have to think that way, mad, mad, mad. But also sad. Because the anger is a roadmap that outlines the boundaries of what hurts.
2) I realized the past couple of weeks, flailing and reacting and looking back through some things and confronting some ideas, that I have quit a lot of projects, work ideas, profitable potentialities, helpful habits – so many things – because his input tainted the experience for me. Portrait photography. Blogging. Graphic design. Microblogging about homesteading and homeschool. Everywhere I found an avenue for talent to meet helpfulness and projects paying for themselves, he was there to SAY SOMETHING. And that wrecked the experience.
3) It’s been weeks – I started this, furious, on July 23rd, and finally gave up trying to make sense and went to bed. Now it’s something like 3 weeks later and I’m back in the same mental space. August is a strange month for me. I think public school and then college trained me to shift gears in August (did I already rant about this in this post?) so now in August I evaluate and have big dreams and get mad about resources I wish I had but won’t work toward… you get the idea. So. Now it’s August. And I wish I was designing calendars and planners and Christmas cards and selling loads of wall art and Scripture memory cards, and I had an idea this week for an ‘inspirational’ line that features quotes from authors – but I can’t tell you too much more about that because I don’t want anyone to steal it. Just know that most of the 5 of you who definitely read my blog will LOVE IT. Jonathan even snorted, that’s how I know it was a great idea. See. Was. Like I had the idea and it’s gone now.
I am not sure why I was numbering the sections? I’m sure it seemed like a good idea three weeks ago. It’s been a LONG three weeks. I haven’ heard from my dad – unless that’s been him making spam accounts to follow my now-private Instagram account.
Oh, I’m over here typing again because I got mad about that, and mad about the writenow journals, and mad about… taking beautiful pictures?… that doesn’t seem quite right. I was maybe mad about … feeling like I was doing something, and then it got derailed. Yeah. Life is weird like that. I bet that’s it. I take pretty good pictures, yes, but there’s a swath in 2014 that are just really spectacular. And then the company Jonathan worked for decided to close, and my grandmother died, and it had already been a rough year, and and and.
Always something else.
I think I came back to WordPress to write but also to share some favorite images that I just found, looking for one in particular.
I did not really intend to include that last one, but it has a nasturtium, and nasturtiums signify victory in conquest. So it’s gotta stay now.
I’m not sure why I feel so decidedly at war right now – I mean, there are plenty of options for why. I am not sure about prioritization, I guess. I should stop writing.