I talk about selling everything, buying an Airstream, and homeschooling my children as we travel around the US.
I talk about selling everything, finding a large plot of land, and taking up subsistence farming.
I talk about selling everything, going on vacation, and just staying.
I’m beginning to realize it has less to do with my desire to sell everything and whatever…
It has everything to do with my need for perfection.
When I was a child, if I accidentally colored outside the lines, I found a different picture to color and as an adult, I toss and completely rewrite a grocery list when an item is not written in the order in which I shop the store. On the 15th iteration of a list, I realize this tendency not only makes trees cry, but sends me careening past pleasantly neurotic and quite close to bat-shit crazy on the madness scale. I do it anyway.
All this to say, I’ve created a behavior loop. When things get messy (or sometimes even just not perfect), I don’t acknowledge and accept, I destroy all evidence and start over. Craft projects, journals, half-filled scrapbooks, even friendships have been tossed aside because all I see is the place where a line got crossed. Lest you think this is all outward behavior, I have so many days where I wish there was some mechanism to throw out the mess of myself and start over.
But that’s impossible (and annoying) so I’m working on it. Working on accepting that I didn’t accomplish a goal I set, but that I can take steps that may (or may not) lead to me toward something similar. Working on accepting people (especially myself) as they are. Working on not needing everything just so in order to feel okay.
My life is full of scribbles and errant colors and eraser marks and places where the page is badly torn and in the irony of trying to shut up my internal bossy, judgy, impossible perfectionist, I fail daily. I did, however, survive a trip to the grocery store with a list that had lemon written down before milk and that my friends, is progress.