There was a time when I thought that if I achieved (insert something big and impressive), things would be perfect. Or maybe it was the opposite. If I was going to do (insert same big, impressive thing), I had to get my act together first. Last week, I told you that I’m writing a book. When I say that I’m writing a book, what I really mean is I’m going to be part of the process. Another writer will be working with me. I am so, so grateful for that. I’ll to some writing, she’ll do some writing, and we’ll piece this story together.
You guys, this is the stuff of dreams. And working on a book is something that fits into my category of, “Oh no! If I’m going to do this, I have to get my life perfectly together first!”
Who am I kidding? As if that were possible.
Not. Even. Close.
This is what I did to our kitchen on Friday morning. In case you’re wondering, when you stick a plastic spatula in a running blender, it doesn’t go well. At all.
Here’s the thing: I know better. I know better. Smart writer-people don’t make stupid mistakes like that. Right? But I did. So then I stood in front of the blender smoothie-speckled and watched pink goo slide down the cabinets. And I laughed.
It. Was. Ridiculous.
So much for being a smart writer-person.
I spent the next half hour cleaning smoothie off the counter (and walls. And cabinets. And ceiling. Yes, ceiling.) and trying to convince my brother that this incident happened because I’m a genius and geniuses lack common sense. He didn’t buy it. I can’t figure out why.
The next few months will probably be some of the wildest I’ve walked through. I think I need to let go of my expectations of perfection. Cause let’s face it: I’m nowhere close. At all. So instead, I’m going to embrace the mess of being me. Just plain little old me.
And yes, it’s messy being me. But boy, is it fun!