Perfectionism

Aftershocks.

I am elbow deep in dirt this May, coaxing some life into my gardens that have been neglected for a few years, five to be exact, due to some work on my body. Everything that I used to do at the speed of lightning — hauling bags of dirt and compost, spreading with the hoe, digging, dividing, edging, deciding — is taking me three times as long since I last dedicated myself to these spaces. I go to bed weighing the options. Once upon a time I would double my efforts but now..? I call this my wave of “covid aftershock.”

Are there things you have let go? Decided some things that obsessed you are not what you want to spend your wild and precious life doing anymore?

I let this float into the universe and think about planters. I think about quiet and good conversations and chairs at the beach for sunset cocktails. I like more space around me now. The feeling of the air on my face is sublime since masks are not mandatory on my walks, so I head out the door for hours and smell every blossom in my path. I also give up and sit still when things ache, not push through. Where has that fast-paced perfectionist gone?

What is your covid aftershock, your wave of realization?

I take more selfies, proving to myself I am still here. This is what matters; not so much the weeds.

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