The Crooked Truth

Kara's Crooked Truth: Here’s to Messy

As I write this, it’s 2pm on New Year’s Day, and I’m still in my pajamas. You might call this lazy. I call it revolutionary. Usually I make five or even ten resolutions a year — to eat healthier, save money, exercise regularly, carve out consistent writing time, drink more water. This year, I have only one goal: Embrace Imperfection.

All my life, I’ve endeavored to make the “right” decisions, the ones my family would approve of. I’ve done everything to minimize my flaws, or cover up the ones I can’t erase. Perhaps my eye for imperfection is what made me a good editor, but it’s made it challenging for me as a writer. Writing is all about freeing your mind, opening yourself up to making mistakes and wrong choices, so you can find your way to the best ideas; the fact that I think I’m not only a bad writer but a BAD PERSON when I allow myself to veer off course is counter-productive. The fact that I respond to mistakes and failure with deep and abiding shame is tragic. I end up feeling wrong and bad and gross and guilty all the time. And that’s no way to live, is it?

Now that I have a child of my own, I’m loosening up, in some ways. Part of this is by design; with a little one who needs me all the time, there’s no way I can keep my house or myself up to the same standard I did before. I’m going to have to go another day without taking a shower, or emptying the dishwasher, or weeding the garden. But the trick is, I have to be okay with it. I have to realize that life is more about being happy with who you are than it is about aspiring to some unattainable ideal, or to someone else’s standard of perfection. I no longer want to live under that magnifying glass, and I certainly don’t want my son to feel that pressure.

The same goes for my writing. I’ve always prided myself on the fact that my story drafts read like final text. I never allow sloppiness or uncertainty. But I just can’t keep up that exacting standard over more than a new dozen pages, which is why I think I always get discouraged when I work on longer pieces. Not accepting anything less than perfection and correctness is downright inhibiting, not to mention freakin’ exhausting.

So here’s to living (and writing) messy. I promise not to judge your dust bunnies, if you promise not to raise your eyebrows at my pajamas in the afternoon, or the crazy, freestyle chapters I’ll be cranking out. Let’s raise a glass (or two) of New Year’s Champagne to that — and then let’s leave our empty glasses in the sink for a while. Loading the dishwasher can wait.

~ Kara