stuck in my head

The Bartender Song was stuck in my head all day long yesterday. This did not drive me crazy because I actually get a kick out of that song. I can’t tell you exactly why but I think it has something to do with my strange sense of humor and the fact that I grew up in Lake City where losing your heart in the trailer park is a lot more common than in a place like Seattle.

notes from a recovering perfectionista

For starters, I almost couldn’t find my word document labeled “blog posts.” That was somewhat frustrating. This is what happens when I try to organize my files, when I try to organize much of anything, actually. I am awfully good at appearing to be organized, though. I imagine people look at me and think, “My how organized she is! She must get so much accomplished!” Maybe I’m wrong about that. Maybe no one thinks of me that way at all.

The little-known truth is that I stink at most areas of organization not because I’m incapable but because I just really don’t really like me when I am organized. I tend to get a bit cranky and oppressive and that’s uncomfortable to me (not to mention the people I live with) so I just sort of turn around and head in the other direction, i.e., general disorganization. My closet is probably the one exception. All of the blue clothes are with the blue clothes and the white clothes are with the white clothes and so on and so on. I had a hard time deciding what to do with the few multi-colored items I own. Put them together in their own multi-colored group or go with the base color? In the middle of this dilemma I realized two things: 1) I have an inordinate number of black separates, and 2) I was probably overcomplicating the issue. I never knew you could over-think closet organization but then I could probably win an Olympic medal in over-thinking so if anyone could do it, I could.

I think…here I go again…that if I noodle things through long enough that I will inevitably discover the right answer and that my life will be beautiful and happy and essentially free from all pain and disappointment. I am beginning to see that this is not such an effective strategy. It seems to me that perfectionism carves out for you this tiny little repressive space and expects you to squeeze the whole of your life into it. Only not everything fits, so you have to start tossing out some things - good things like grace, and kindness, and your own sanity. I have become rather fond of those things so by default I have chosen to allow a good bit more disorganization into my life. I suppose there is some middle ground, some balance to be found between the two extremes. Maybe I will find it as I bounce back and forth between the two.