This was my youngest son’s first sentence. His first word was “no.”
“No” came from my husband – despite attending a parenting class required by the preschool our youngest attended, where the number one lesson was “don’t just say ‘no’ to your child or that will his first words. Fail.
But “It’s not perfect” came from me. But I never thought of myself as a perfectionist, at least when it came to anything that affects me. When it comes to my son, any of my sons, my husband, the people I love and care about, I do only want perfection for them. That’s always been the case.
My fingers freeze over this keyboard – if it can’t be perfect, it can’t be posted. I realize that this need for perfection has, late in life, poured over to myself, my own goals. I achieved two very important goals last year – qualifying for Boston, and getting a new job, a job relevant to my education and, more importantly, my interests. I was somewhat relentless in that pursuit – sick of settling for less than my goal. I pushed and I pushed myself until I got there – even if it broke me (as my marathon finish did for several weeks).
I created this blog to force myself back in the habit of writing again. To make writing a daily habit, has I’ve made running and everything else that is important in my life. But I’m paralized with fear everytime I begin to write, fearing that what the year will reveal is that I’ve got nothing to write, I’ve lost my style, and I’ve lost my voice. That is the most honest thing I’ve every written. I know it’s not perfect, or poetic, but hopefully it is not prophetic.