Sometimes I feel pressure to have the right words at all times.
It's a pressure I put on myself. I know this. I blame it on my Type A personality and penchant for little details. Mistakes are not an option in my world and I often feel forced to operate from a place of perfection at all times. I love clean lines and straight shooters: I have honed in on my appreciation for organization and things that match. And what do I hate? Mess. Chaos. Disorganized clutter.
This might be a slight exaggeration, because my current bedroom is so small that many of my belongings are left without a proper place, which drives me absolutely bat shit crazy. But I can't change that situation right now so I live in squaller. I hate it.
As a blogger, I have trouble finding that line between perfection and personal. There is so much I want to write, so much I have in my mind and on my heart, SO MANY FREAKING FEELS. Yet, more often than not, I sit, starting at a blank computer screen and that blinking line that gets super condescending when the right words just won't come. Sorry, scratch that, when the perfect words just won't come. In some facets of my life, I am defined as a blogger, a writer: the girl who finds the perfect way to say what everyone is thinking and when I can't perform that duty perfectly, I feel like I'm letting everyone down, including myself. I'm not sure where this sudden fear of failure came from; maybe it's because this blog feels different from other blogs I've written in the past. Maybe I'm rusty after so many months of silence. Maybe it's that I'm scared to be vulnerable again.
I sat with my fear last night. I mean, really sat with it. Kyle watched "Daredevil" and I sat in our cluttered room, thinking about perfection and mess. Seems those two are opposites, right? Complete parallels of each other and never the two shall meet. Though I crave clean and organized, the reality is this: my life is messy. I might pay my bills on time, but I will always wait until the last possible second to do my laundry. I will always do my dishes the second after I eat a meal, but feel like cleaning the living room can wait. For every "perfect" thing I do, there are many "less than perfect" things trailing behind. Some might call those "flaws" but I call them "perfect imperfections". We are perfectly imperfect.
Maybe it's true: maybe your blog design is better when it's basic and clean. Maybe your Instagram feed is more attractive when nothing is out of place and the right filter brings out the color of you eyes. But your words? They're are better when they are messy and transparent. I'm learning to get comfortable with the fact that I might not always have the perfect words. I'm learning I'm not good at the flat lay but I'm really good at processing how I feel by writing it down, and what comes out is usually beautiful....and if it's It can be edited. I'm learning some posts will be hits, some will be misses but all that matters is that I keep coming back. I'm learning to embrace my mess, and to make a perfect story out of it. I am perfectly imperfect, and I'm still finding my way.