Meet Perfect the Pig.
Perfect the Pig lives on my refrigerator. There’s a magnet in his nose, so he’s pretty comfortable there. Except when the cat tries to knock him off.
See, I had this book as a little girl. It was a story about a flying pig, named Perfect (of course). So last year at the museum gift shop started carrying these, I knew one of them was coming to live with me.
I brought him home and stuck him on the refrigerator and realized it was a perfect (ha!) metaphor for how I felt.
Like this pig, I accomplished the impossible, I grew wings. I figured a few things out, and started to get off the ground. I was just beginning to soar, when I hit a wall and got stuck.
The wall is perfectionism.
I haven’t written here lately because I felt like even though I had a few ideas, I didn’t have time to make it perfect, so I didn’t bother. I wasn’t happy with August’s dreamboard, so I didn’t post it. I couldn’t make a perfect painting, so I didn’t paint.
A wise person told me this week, “You don’t have to be perfect to begin.” And it opened all sorts of doors in my brain. I’ve begun.
Perhaps pigs will fly after all.