I have been apologizing a lot lately. To my friends, to my clients, to the woman that sold me Q Tips at Target the other night. I've apologized to Finley, my dog. I've apologized to my mom and to Walker. I even apologized to my washing machine the other day. Pretty much if I haven't apologized to you, I probably have felt like I should have.
It was small at first, this feeling. It started off as a small seed of anxiety, a little feeling of having a small plate with a lot on it. It started because I was feeling overwhelmed. It started because I was feeling stressed. Stress, for me, doesn't typically look like one might think it should. I usually sleep fine. I usually don't talk about the things that I am stressed about, not a lot at least. I usually carry them quietly at the very center of my body so that no one, especially the people that might be looking, can see them. I carry them in the inner most part of me, my core, where the light cannot get to them. There they stay hidden and secret. There they are free to carry on, but only for as long as they remain covered by darkness.
For whatever reason that did not seem to be an option this time around. Maybe it was because things felt heavier than they have in the past. Maybe because there were more things than there usually are. Maybe because the things were different than the typical things. Maybe there is a different reason that I can't see. Maybe I am just changing. Regardless of the reason, my usual way of handling and interacting with stress and anxiety and pain didn't come through. Something was up and it showed. And that was hard for me. That is hard for me. That feels scary and out of control and risky. It also feels like I'm whining when I don't want or mean to be. It also feels like I'm needy when I don't want or mean to be. But it also feels good. Like the kind of light that is blinding and too much for your eyes to handle, but once they adjust you can see better than you've ever seen before.
And even with all that light, I know there is still so much I cannot see.
Thank you for seeing. Thank you for keeping me where the light is. Thank you for that push and shove and kick I needed to stay out of the cave, out of the pit, out of the darkness that I have known so well for so long.
I turned into a kind of zombie. Not the kind that eats people, but the kind that walks through life in a daze with perpetual sleepy eyes. It felt like I had too much. It feels like I have too much. I felt tired. Not sleep deprived, but exhausted in every sense except for physically. I felt like I couldn't do it all and so I allowed my heart to go into hibernation. It didn't shut down, but it did slow down. It didn't refuse to take on new things, but it was hesitant and overly sensitive and protective and defensive.
If I'm honest, it's still doing those things some days. I am still a little overly sensitive and hesitant. And to be honest, I'm alright with that, with how my heart is acting. I don't want to be like this forever. I don't want my heart to stay always in hibernation, but I do need for it to keep beating and while a hesitant heart is not the most open, it does allows for life to remain.
Roughly one year ago, I was told that I ought to allow myself to create imperfectly. If I had to make a list of the top five things I have learned over the past year that would definitely be at the top of the list; It has been huge for me. It was discussed in the context of an artist making something. Whether it be a writer and a novel or a musician and a song or a painter and a painting.
"Fears about art making fall into two families: one, fear about yourself, and two, fear about your reception by others. In a general way, fear about yourself prevents you from doing your best work, while fear about your reception by others prevents you from doing your own work. " Art & Fear
Whatever the craft, we must allow ourselves to create imperfectly, otherwise will will never create. Otherwise, we will never share with the world or even with one other person the things that we have made. Otherwise, we risk becoming obsessed with making our work perfect; we will never create or we will create less, we will miss out on things we could be making or doing while we over analyze every little detail of our work. Have pride in your work. Do your best. Blah. Blah. Blah. But realize and understand that no one is perfect and no one can continually create perfection. Allow yourself to be what you are: imperfect. And allow your work to be the same.
It was liberating for me. As a writer, I feel connected and exposed by the things that I write. I feel more vulnerable allowing someone to read something that I have written than I would sitting down and having a conversation with the very same person about the very same thing. So the thought of writing something that I am not 150% happy with and then sharing it with someone else that I do not 150% trust can be debilitating. For a long, long time I didn't share those things with anyone. For a long, long time it was debilitating. And honestly, it's still scary, but I've found that it's a risk I want to take. It's a risk I like to take. And it's a risk I believe I was created to take. Maybe one day it won't feel much like a risk anymore. I'm not there yet, but I am closer than I once was. I think that's something.
The lesson has continued to surprise me and shape me and I continue to be terribly thankful for it. "Allow yourself to create imperfectly," has transformed into, "allow yourself to be imperfect." I would never have used the word, "perfectionist," to describe myself. Most people that know anything at all about me would not use that word to describe this girl. I was never a perfectionist in school; I never lost sleep over making As on tests or papers. I've never worried too much about others having a high view of what I am capable of. Yeah, it's annoying when someone doesn't believe in me. I don't like that feeling, but me, by myself knowing that I am capable is usually enough. I'm pretty comfortable answering a question with a simple, "I don't know." So often I don't know. I'm usually content without knowing.
It gets sticky when we start to talk about how I manage and deal with things that are not easy to manage or deal with, hard things. I want one of two things. One, I want you to have no idea how I manage or deal with those things or two, I want you to think that I manage and deal with those things perfectly. In this area I want to at least appear as if I am a perfectionist. I know that I am not perfect at these things, but I don't want anyone else to know that. Coming to this realization was like meeting a part of myself I had never met before. We are still getting to know each other. We like each other, at least I like her. I don't always know how she feels about me. It's funny finding a part of myself that is so different from the other parts that I more often identify with. I am trying to teach her that it's ok to not be perfect and more than that it's ok for other people to see that you're not perfect. And she is trying to teach me something too. But I haven't quite figured out exactly what that is yet.
My heart is not perfect, of this I am sure. I do want an open heart. I promise, that is something that I desire. But something else I desire is that I might find a way to allow my heart to be exactly where it is. Right now, part of the imperfection in me, looks like a heart that is having a hard time remaining open like a lake. I want to allow for that imperfection to exist, because it's honest, all the while hoping for something more, hoping for change to come into my heart. I want two opposite things at the same time. I feel two opposite ways at the same time (lesson number two for the year, but that's a different story).
I'm not done apologizing, because I do things every day that merit regret, but I am done (or at least I want to be done) hiding. The response to my imperfection was surprising. No one told me to quit whining. No one told me to stuff those things back into the place where no light can get to them. No one told me I was being needy. I was the only one that said those words. You told me it was ok. You told me that I wasn't alone. You told me that you wanted to know. You told me that you were with me. Beautifully terrible.
The first surprise I can say that I am truly, truly thankful for.
I don't know why our words are so proud
Yet their promise so thin
And our lives blow about
Like flags in the wind
You who mourn will be comforted
You who hunger will hunger no more
All the last shall be first
Of this I am sure
You who weep now will laugh again
All you lonely, be lonely no more
Yes, the last will be first
Of this I am sure
I don't know why the innocents fall
While the monsters still stand
I don't know why the little ones thirst
But I know the last shall be first
BF
