No one is perfect... that's why pencils have erasers. ~Author Unknown
Now back to the book! So as I contemplate my characters, and realize they are clearly the characters I want to write about, I still have this "oh, look. a rabbit" trigger for distraction. The author's dilemma- so I now have learned. Finding a reason to procastinate and not do the writing seems innate to the trade. But that's when you call it a trade. Why not just call this art? Writing is an art, and to emote it and let it come forth seems to work for me.
It's like life. Nothing is wrong. How do I say that with a straight face and a smile? A quick understanding that whatever comes out in the book, or on the paper, or on the canvass, it's supposed to be that way. Letting go of perfection--or the ego's interpretation of perfection isn't easy. From an early age, we all strive for it. It's relentless. Our parents, and their parents, and THEIR parents raised us all that way. So, from a "victim" point of view, blame it on the parents. Isn't that what parents are for? I love you mom and dad....you're not here in physical form any more, but I really sense you a lot.
Ah, maturity. It comes when you no longer have parents around to blame. The real maturity is when you no longer have a spouse, or parent to blame it on...the "perfection" game, that is. Everything would fall into place if "he/she" just didn't get in the way.... it's clear the ego will win out every time...at least mine does. After Larry died, I had new opportunities in life, and still do. But as I settle near my sixth year of his passing, I realize and truly appreciate the abundance that has been handed to me since he has been gone. Not just material things, or monetary things. It's the new people in my life, the ability to sleep in when I want to, the ability to just hop in my car and go somewhere, no accountability. It took me three years to get over THAT guilt. Now I live more spontaneous.
I looked out my backyard today and realized, yes, I'm ready for summer. My squash, tomatoes, cucumbers, and spices are planted and growing quite well. The signs of summer are everywhere, and I draw in the air of my backyard deep into my lungs (allergies are cautioned here). The birds are singing away, and I am well on my way to full appreciation. Now...where is that pencil? Oh, is that
Namaste, Universe, Namaste.