When I’m sitting back taking a break from a project, I start reflecting on what I’ve done so far, what still needs to be done or how to overcome an unforeseen obstacle. It’s in those moments that I learn a little something about myself. Here’s something I wrote a couple of years ago during a sewing project:
Friend: “Did your seam come out alright?”
Me: “No. I’m so frustrated. It looked beautiful on the wrong side [of the fabric], but the right side was mismatched. …I have been working on this for hours and have literally made zero progress!”
Friend: “Probably your character is being refined. :)”
Me: “My character is questionable at this point. How many F-bombs are allowed in one afternoon?”
Me: “I’m quite fearful that I’ve screwed up the first shade and will have to go buy new fabric.”
Friend: “I doubt it very seriously. Take a deep breath because it will all be fine. Even if you did, in the scheme of things, it’s no big deal.”
Me: “That’s what I’m trying to tell myself. It’s times like this that I feel crippled by my perfectionism and pride.”
So, the text conversation read as I labored for several days over a Home-Dec-In-A-Sec pattern that was, according to the front of the pattern envelope, supposed to be accomplished ‘in 2 hours or less!’. I knew from experience that it wouldn’t happen that way, but just for once, I wanted to complete a sewing project from beginning to end without mistakes. I often envision the finished product before I ever start any given project. In my imagination, it’s beautiful, perfect and everything I wanted it to be. Reality is that it is imperfect, close to what I wanted it to be and yet still beautiful.
It’s okay to make mistakes. Perfection isn’t required. It isn’t even possible. At least, all of my efforts at being perfect have been futile, and I have spent a lifetime trying.
Until next time,