Ive always been a little bit ashamed of my impatience. It sounds too much like a bad thing, too much like lack of care, or respect, or even just calm. It sounds like this rash, abrasive thing that snowballs into bad decisions and reckless, destructive behaviour.
I’ve come to realise, though, that I’d have no skills or achievements to speak of if I had patience. Because combined with my perfectionism, all I’d do is procrastinate. Id very patiently work and work and work at being better, being my best, before starting. So when I start, it’ll be predictable and easy.
I’ll never be my best. I’ll never be my best til the day I die, every day will make me better (or so I hope). And it’ll never easy, either.
So I’ve decided my impatience is a good thing. It’s my little assistant, hyping me up and screaming and screeching at me to get it done before I’m bored. Before the inspiration leaves me and I’m left with another husk of something beautiful in my wip graveyard. It doesn’t desert me til it’s got its sick thrill of seeing the end result and when it’s done, it’s done. Gone like it was never there and suddenly it’s all I can think about to bring it back.
This impatience makes it so I really push myself too. I learnt sewing to make myself clothes and my very first project was a frilly, flowy top that also needed a lining. It definitely wasn‘t the most beginner friendly thing to do, but I was impatient. I wanted fun clothes, not scrunchies or pillow covers (unfortunately). This accelerates my learning curve by SO much. No matter what it is I’m doing, I’m pushing myself. Not to be the best, but to have in the physical world whats in my head.
No comments:
Post a Comment