Letting go – I’m not perfect

Shock and awe, but I’m not perfect. Believe me, it’s taken me some time to realize that I’m not. Okay, it already sounds like I’ve been full of myself, but I haven’t really been that either. Thing is, I’ve been somewhat of a control freak. Anything that I do, or undertake, I’ve attempted to do myself because I don’t trust that anyone else would do a satisfactory job. Clearly, this doesn’t really go with my attitude of trusting people (as I indicated a few posts ago). Somehow I have made myself believe that I could do a better job… sigh.

When did I make this remarkable discovery? This weekend, Saturday to be exact. When you ask? When I was ‘pasting’ (is that the word?) the walls in our hallway. Johanna and I decided to try and make our house a little bit more ours by renovating the hallway which really didn’t look all that great before. This is when I discovered that I’m not perfect, nor is my craftsmanship. And why should it be? I’ve never done any renovations before, so how could I possibly expect it to be perfect? This is me, imperfect and all. Yes there will be some crooks and nannies (yes I know, that’s not how you say it, but … whatever, sue me) but so what? I’m not a handy-man, or a professional, but it’s my work. (Well, our work!)

Admitting to not being perfect is actually kind of liberating, very liberating even. I am what I can become and I can become anything I want, it’s all about investment of time and prioritization. I felt that I, sorry we, could do a good enough job with the hallway. Would a professional have done a better job, of course, but we’d also have to pay in both our time AND money. (Work-time to earn the money to pay someone to do it), so we’d really loose out. Now we worked, earned the money and paid ourselves to do the job.

Johanna spent the day painting and did a terrific job. Tomorrow we’ll do the second run of painting and after that we’ll have some details to finish. It’s not perfect, but … again, it’s nice that it’s not, because it makes it even more personal. There is a story now. It’s not just a hallway, it’s OUR hallway in all it’s imperfect glory.

I am what I choose to become and I choose to be imperfect.