Lovely flowers aren’t they. I love flowers, you might have noticed that I like photographing them, quite a lot, rather a lot.
I love flowers.
They don’t have to be specimen perfect flowers.
In fact I love the imperfect flowers most of all.
I love that broken petal, that waterlogged centre, the torn edge, the marks that weather, time, rain and life have made on the plant. To me it makes the beauty of the flower all the more poignant and powerful.
Why then am I such a bloody perfectionist in other matters. Actually unable to get something done because I am afraid it won’t be perfect and I will hear that oft heard voice from the past echo in my ears saying “Just not good enough”, “Must try harder”, “Better luck next time”, “You’re hopeless”, “Why bother you’ll never do it”, and worst of all “Don’t get your hopes up”.
Have you heard those?
I use notebooks, have them in my bag, round the house, in the car. Something to write a quick reminder in, something to keep the old grey matter from disappearing completely in the mush of age. But though I have notebooks everywhere I use the crappiest rattiest notebooks to make notes in. Oh I have a cupboard full of lovely notebooks and believe me I buy pretty notebooks at the drop of the proverbial hat.
But use these notebooks, Oh no, can’t do that.
I can’t use them because I’m afraid I’ll make a mess of them. My mind waltzes back to school days and getting into trouble for messing up your jotter, must be neat and tidy at all times. Nasty red pen marks all over my work, not good enough, unworthy.
Not be worthy of a piece of paper. Is that mad or what.
Perfectionism stops us doing so many things. When I admire flowers and appreciate their imperfections I’m being kind. When I look at myself and what I do I lack that kindness and go into perfection overload – Must be perfect, must be right.
Today I am going to scribble in a pretty notebook and start a new way of life……….