It seems these days, I exist only ... to do the "right" thing. My day is completely encased in rules. Go here. Do that. File this. Pay this bill. Seems like everything has two consequences.... a right and a wrong one, nothing in between.
I wake at the right time, gingerly positioning myself to get out of bed the right way, otherwise I might pull a muscle. I walk to the kitchen to feed my, by this time, verbal cats. Take care to feed them the right amount, otherwise they will get fat. I make coffee, measuring the exact right amount into the filter, so as to create that perfect blend of flavor, caffeine and thrift. I think to myself, "I should eat breakfast, cause it's important to my health." I skip it; I am (choose the right word here...).... a rebel.
I get in the shower, wash my hair with the right conditioner to perk up and shine, styling it the right way for my appointments today. Drive the right speed, the right, shortest and fastest way to work. Pay bills on the right day, buy the right insurance, file the right forms, save the right files. Backup the computer, otherwise all the rightness may be lost.
Shoot, I am RARELY right. Yet I still try, holding up the facade of being and doing the right thing is just as exhausting.
I unwind from the day by taking a relaxing walk in the garden, at which point I see tons of weeds. Pull the weeds, manicure the garden, because there are right and wrong plants to have growing in the garden.
Maybe I just need to relax and let my weeds grow. Maybe I need to love my weeds.
The struggle to be perfect has consequences. They are inner turmoil, lack of positive meaning in my life, living for society's notion of what I need to be, what I need to do, and how I need to be doing it. I want my own rightness.
I choose to love my weeds.
I wake at the right time, gingerly positioning myself to get out of bed the right way, otherwise I might pull a muscle. I walk to the kitchen to feed my, by this time, verbal cats. Take care to feed them the right amount, otherwise they will get fat. I make coffee, measuring the exact right amount into the filter, so as to create that perfect blend of flavor, caffeine and thrift. I think to myself, "I should eat breakfast, cause it's important to my health." I skip it; I am (choose the right word here...).... a rebel.
I get in the shower, wash my hair with the right conditioner to perk up and shine, styling it the right way for my appointments today. Drive the right speed, the right, shortest and fastest way to work. Pay bills on the right day, buy the right insurance, file the right forms, save the right files. Backup the computer, otherwise all the rightness may be lost.
Shoot, I am RARELY right. Yet I still try, holding up the facade of being and doing the right thing is just as exhausting.
I unwind from the day by taking a relaxing walk in the garden, at which point I see tons of weeds. Pull the weeds, manicure the garden, because there are right and wrong plants to have growing in the garden.
Maybe I just need to relax and let my weeds grow. Maybe I need to love my weeds.
The struggle to be perfect has consequences. They are inner turmoil, lack of positive meaning in my life, living for society's notion of what I need to be, what I need to do, and how I need to be doing it. I want my own rightness.
I choose to love my weeds.
Copyright 2002 Yvonne Ramage
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