Perfectionism is a cover, a blanket of lead; hard to move and rich with poison. What it tries to hide is my unwillingness to struggle and strive. It’s not a fear of failure, but the horror of success after a long hot pursuit. If I can stall on the intricacies of the first move there is no further movement. If I can fail before I begin there is no sweat, no stain, no stink. Catastrophe is no bother, but skinned knees are my undoing. Winning is not so important to me; my unfortunate goal is to look untroubled.
Snap a picture of your beliefs
During the months of winter
The trees stand tall and leafless
Static in their appearance, frozen in direction
The insurgence of spring brings to life the truth
The buds and flowers show the draw of the their owners
The pull of life from the earth and sky.
Other trees have begun to restore the gifts so graciously given
These leafless giants open themselves
As home and sustenance to the surrounding community
Returning favors and flavors, coming to terms with wholeness
Celebrations of all I have, call for me to give back
Even during the time when we all look the same.
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault