I have a pile of pretty notebooks with blank pages.
I have a few sets of unused colored pencils and pens.
A box of scrapbook materials, untouched.
And dozens of notepads that are likely to remain as drafts forever.
I think my penmanship is not that pretty so I don’t write on the pretty notebooks. I just let the pages remain blank rather than have them stained by my ugly writing.
During second grade, I joined a coloring book contest and won first place. Growing up, I’ve seen better art–real art–and now I could no longer find myself content with how I shade inside the lines. Comparison is dangerous to the soul.
I used to print out photos for scrapbooks but found my creative side lacking in ideas for putting together still moments.
I keep writing ideas in the morning, and right before I doze off at night… but I never finish a single thought.
I say that I keep waiting for perfection to happen; that when it does, I’ll put myself out there more. However, I do not truly wait for it.
I am an impatient collection of cells sprinkled with a few talents to start with, a handful of passions to pursue. But at the first sight of ugly, I leave.
Today’s sunrise is different though. It calls on me to remind myself that perfection does not happen to anyone. But a few brave, patient souls happen to perfection.
Toil. Stay. Look hard at the ugly (or what you think is NOT for anyone to see or read or hear). And as you linger, allow yourself to fall in love with the imperfections until you get brave enough to share your heart, bare your soul.