That is perfectionism.
No mountains to climb for the possibility of the view. No trees swaying in the breeze casting an infinite kaleidoscope of never ending shadow dances on the ground. No lying on your back to watch a poodle transform into a dragon in the clouds, then disappear into a Viking ship.
This week was so busy, I found myself having to go to the dryer for clean clothes to put on.
Dressing out of the dryer in not what a perfectionist does.
It's just not.
I'm learning, ever so painfully, that perfectionism is over-rated.
I used to think I had to be a perfectionist in order to live a balanced life. I thought balance was "doing everything right, so everything would go right."
Where is all this coming from? This dissecting of perfectionism?
A few short deadline packed days ago, I worked incredibly hard on a photo shoot and had a total blast. But whenever my perfectionist tendencies started to eek into my work, something went wrong. It was as if the people around me became tense as they fed off my tension. These were only seconds of reactions within larger delightful minutes. It was normal. It was variety. But as I got tired, I became harder and harder on myself.
Afterwards, three of us were riding home together. We were punchy in a wow-we-did-it-and-it-went-really-well kind of way. Three professional women laughing easily about pretty much everything, but especially messes. Birth story messes. Life messes. Relationship messes. Past work messes.
The joy for me is that I get to work really hard with women who were close friends before we ever started. At some point, though, I made a tangled word comment that implied they weren't perfect. They laughed and teased, "Wait. You don't think we're perfect?"
While they took it totally in stride, I panicked. Isn't it a good thing not to be perfect? That's exactly what makes them–well–perfect friends. But did I hurt their feelings? How do I get my exhausted brain to communicate what I'm feeling?
In the end, I failed. I went to bed hoping they didn't think I viewed them as anything less than perfect even in our imperfections.
This word, perfect, is so messy. So imperfect.
Balance
better word
Still messy though, if you're a perfectionist. The perfectionist wants to get it right, and then to have it STAY exactly that way. Stagnant, actually, but perfect.
There is a true balance that is healthier. If I think of someone who has great balance, it's the surfer able to ride the anything-but-stagnant wave.
It's the mountain biker who doesn't fall off while careening over rocks and climbing muddy slopes.
It's my mother who laughs at her mistakes and looks for rainbows on cloudy days.
Balance is about being able
to adjust
to movement.
Life moves. Changing by the second. No two days or even minutes the same.
Relaxing into a wave yet having well toned muscles and strong support are both key.
Rest and strength building = thrill and success.
A good surfer even knows how to fall well.
I am not a surfer.
But I love my friends and am in awe of their gifts. They are perfectly delightful, because they aren't exactly perfect. Never stagnant. Never boring.
There are five of us on this particular dream team. Every time we work together, there's amazing balance. We shift and adjust. Occasionally bump. Adjust again and then, wave after wave (fashion shot after fashion shot) find that sweet spot.
I leave slightly insecure, mostly in awe. Why I get to be on this team is so beyond me.
What a perfect gift of glorious imperfection. Solid, touchable beauty. Not some display that screams, "DO NOT TOUCH OR YOU'LL MESS EVERYTHING UP!" We feed off of each others' ideas. We get to learn from each other. We work really, really hard and then follow our gut and enjoy the moment.
This shoot is in the bag. The waters are calmer today, but I'm looking forward to the next swell. Mostly because I get to be with these people again. It'll be totally different. And that's the best part.
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