I called my mentor in a state of panic the other afternoon. I’d been procrastinating with my writing, allowing deadlines to draw dangerously close before a project was completed. This game of Russian roulette didn’t just puzzle me; it also exhausted my mental and physical capacities. And I couldn’t figure out why I’d hold a craft that fulfills me so close to open flame.
It was simple, she explained. I wasn’t enjoying myself anymore. I had replaced my creativity - my voice - with authoritative dictation that things must progress quickly, and now! The perfectionist that exists deep in my soul (the one I try to suppress) had reemerged and was shouting orders left and right. With every free minute of my spare time dedicated towards pushing myself to the next level, I’d neglected to live the life that exists out my window. My procrastination, in essence, was my hesitation to let my work product be less than perfect. I’d unconsciously overwhelmed my life with responsibilities, deadlines and little room to breathe, she continued; and without flexibility, I had no room for the errors and mistakes we all need to make in order to grow and thrive.
And with that, I pledge to myself and to my life to take it in and let it be. To find enjoyment, once more, in the spontaneous - occasionally, the capricious. To believe, as I always have, that the universe has a funny way of working itself out.