It's Okay To Be Imperfect

Do you ever get the feeling that people are nicer to you than you deserve?

I’ve been a bit of a flop since my exams finished. A few weeks ago I wrote about the importance of rest, and I maintain that these weeks of crashing out in bed with Netflix have been justified, and were good for me at the time. But graduation is a few weeks behind me now and I’m struggling to get myself to my feet again. I’m flagging without a structure or routine, and I seem to lack the discipline to create it for myself. I'm aching for September, when the start of an internship will mean my days are structured for me!

Not that I really have anything to complain about (but when has that stopped anyone?). I’m grateful to have this free time. But I think it’s the emptiness of this post-student-life break that has thrown me a little. I’ve never thought of myself as the kind of person who has to always be "doing" to be satisfied. You know those “do-ers,” people who are always busy, and seem scared of losing their identity when they’re not “doing” anymore? I’ve never been one of those—I’ve always been perfectly happy taking my time with life, allowing the inner world of my mind and heart to weigh equal importance to the busy-ness of my hands. I’m okay at saying no to things I don’t want to do, for the sake of my own rest, health, or introvert-time.

But even by my standards, the last few weeks have been pretty quiet. I’ve started a part-time job, thankfully, to help fill up my time, mind, and bank balance over the summer break. Something to occupy my hands and give me a reason to be tired in the evenings.

Even so, I’ve been surprised at the feeling of worthlessness that has come alongside this period of quiet. The questions in my mind of, what am I contributing to anybody? Am I allowed to still be “resting” or is this really just laziness now? Is everyone around me wondering what I’m doing with my time? Am I paranoid to be thinking like this? If I’m secure in my identity and my decisions about how to spend my time, where has this fear of worthlessness come from?

I’ve been writing for That First Year for coming up to a year now, but this is my first post as an actual, proper graduate. I’ve been thinking about the fears and sorrows and joys and wonders of that first year out of university but these few weeks have been my first taste of it for myself. It is scary. Harder than I expected.

Starting the summer job was a little daunting, for someone who gets nervous easily. It meant meeting new people, learning a new skill, forcing myself out of bed at 7 am a few mornings a week, for the first time since pre-exams. I tend to get nervous when starting new things because I feel an expectation to already know what I’m doing. I forget that when you’re new, you’re not expected to know what’s going on. You’re buddied up, shadowing the experts to copy them, until you no longer need to copy because it’s part of your own understanding. But the fear on my first day was that I would stay in that place for the entire summer—the place of "newbie," the one who doesn’t know what she’s doing, who can’t get it right. But, obviously (in retrospect) this is not how my co-workers treated me. They didn’t expect me to master the job from day one. They were patient with me, explained things to me, and have assured me that I’m safe to make mistakes and ask questions for as long as it takes to learn. They didn’t expect me to be perfect.

On the topic of new things, I’ve recently started dating someone. A guy who treats me infinitely better than I feel I deserve. A guy who I messed around for months because I didn’t know what I wanted, couldn’t make up my mind. A guy who I hurt, unintentionally but because I wasn’t more careful. Who I drunk texted, who I said one thing to and then acted to the contrary. A guy who was, somehow, patient with me, forgiving, and understanding. Who for some reason, despite my fears and doubts and spirals of overthinking, still thinks I’m lovely. Despite seeing some of the worst parts of me, the no-make-up-and-in-pajamas side of me, the selfish and lazy and scared parts of me, he still sees something in me he thinks is worth pursuing. Though I’ve had a few weeks to get used to this, the knowledge of it is still stunning me daily.

Recently I was struck by this line in a Christian song,

“that he should give His only son, to make a wretch his treasure”

And when I say struck, I mean listened to it on repeat for 48 hours, crying intermittently. It’s a beautiful song about how deeply God loves us, so much that he looks past our wretchedness—promises us he can heal it—and makes us his treasure. This is a pretty wonderful truth to be reminded of, and it’s taking its time to sink in.

I know that this won't mean a lot to everyone reading this, that religion isn’t the point of this blog —but this song helped me to connect all of these feelings together. Something clicked for me in the combination of these words, the vulnerability of starting a new job, and the early stages of this relationship. It reminds me in my moments of inadequacy, my days of feeling not-quite-good-enough, that it’s okay to not be perfect. It’s okay to find this new phase of life a little scary, to not know exactly what I'm doing with it yet. It reminds me that even when I feel wretched, I am treasured—more than I know and more than I deserve.

“Love is holy because it is like grace—the worthiness of its object is never really what matters.” —Marilynne Robinson

FREE PRINT

Do you like free things? Us too. How about this free print of a dope Harry Potter quote in 3 font options?

Enter your email below to receive your free downloadable print!

Featured

The End of An Era: Saying Goodbye to Windrose

Hi friends,

Announcement (sounds so formal, doesn’t it?):

It's the end of an era.

I’ve decided that, after nearly 8 years of telling stories of navigating life, this season of Windrose is drawing to a close.

Even Here: Words for When You're Wandering

When I was 22 years old, I visited the desert for the first time.

A metaphorical desert, if we’re getting technical.

I was fresh out of college, starry-eyed and eager to begin my post-grad life. I had big ‘ole me-centered dreams: a shiny, brag-worthy PR job in the music industry! An apartment with an exposed brick wall that (somehow) would fit an upright piano! A committed relationship with a kind, goofy man!

I got exactly none of those things.

To summarize an entire year’s worth of emotion: I was devastated.

What is Home?

Late last night, I flew back into town after a week away, the city lights covering the Valley like a blanket of incandescent flowers. I’ve flown into Phoenix at least a dozen times at this point. Usually, I can identify a handful of landmarks, like my antenna-scarred South Mountain or the twinkling lights of the bridges spanning Tempe Town Lake.

Flying into Nashville, however, was always different.

I Don't Live Here Anymore

I recently returned to Nashville for the first time since moving to Phoenix five months ago.

Before my reunion, I often said that the word “home” could apply to both Nashville and Phoenix. Nashville is my home. Phoenix is my home. I could find that home-sweet-home feeling in both cities.

During my 8 days back, I frequented my old haunts. The brickwalled coffee shop still serves the meanest mocha in town. The hillside winery still proves to be a worthwhile spot to sip away a sunny Sunday afternoon. The hip burger joint still offers a lovely evening to dine with friends, new and old. The lime-green Mexican restaurant on the corner of Whitebridge still feels like a queso-soaked refuge.

There were many “stills,” but there were changes, too.

Why did you move?

A cardstock print sits propped against the lamp on my desk: a taupe watercolor swipe outlining a peakside Saguaro, the sun a tiny ring above. Beneath this minimalist illustration are these words in typeface: “I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”

I happened upon this notecard-sized print on the way out of a shop last weekend, after already having completed another purchase. It was the last print of its kind in the pile. I had to have it. I returned to the cashier: “This one, too.”

You see, this verse has been a thread weaving through my story, simple words spoken by a prophet long dead, a passage of comfort I’ve returned to again and again since my pilgrimage to the desert four years ago, when I inked a cactus on my wrist.

The Good Old Days

Last week was National Margarita Day.

I did not, however, celebrate the holiday. Truthfully, I’ve yet to find THE Mexican place here in Phoenix. You know the one: gaudy decorations, cheap food, even cheaper margaritas.

But there’s a Mexican restaurant at the corner of Charlotte and Whitebridge in Nashville, TN.

You may have heard of it.

Witching Hour (or, Fighting Off Demons at 3 am with a Box Cutter)

Between the hours of 3 - 4 am, I find myself awakened by nothing in particular. The room is silent. There is no sound outside. No loud car horns. No dogs barking.

I’m upset.

I wish it was something other than just me. Then I could stop it. Nothing is to blame. It feels like moments have passed since I closed my eyes. The moments of a long dreamless sleep last about 4 hours.

10 Life Lessons This Cross-Country Move is Attempting to Teach Me

There are a few lessons life has attempted to teach me since my move — all things that I haven’t yet spiced up into a full essay, but deserve to be memorialized by my metaphorical pen nonetheless.

So I present a collection of lessons I’ve learned — and am still learning — in the last 3 months.

What Will Your Life Look Like?

Tomorrow marks 3 months.

Three months here, sharing a zip code with Saguaros.

“So how is Phoenix?” a friend asked me over the phone as I sat on my balcony beneath glowing string lights, a pour of raspberry wine in my hand. The sun was setting, painting the eastern mountains with rosy swipes of redemption.

How has Phoenix been these last three months?

What is it Trying to Tell You, if Only You’d Listen?

I went on a date recently. Two glasses of Riesling, pleasant conversation, and a perfectly amicable guy — it was an altogether fine evening.

However, I wasn’t interested in a second date.

Not because of any run-for-the-hills red flags. Not because I didn’t think he was cute. Not because we didn’t get along. I simply — wasn’t interested.

There’s no better way to explain it. No fear-based avoidance of the potential for a healthy relationship. No disdain for commitment that needs a heavy round of therapy to work through. Nothing deeper than the inner sense that a second date just wasn’t necessary.

But, I said yes to getting dinner again with him.

The Other Side of Yes

I’m a No Girl.

In many ways, this is a good thing. I’m able to confidently decline invitations that disinterest me.

“Want to go whitewater rafting?” No thank you, I’m comfy right here on the bank.

“Want to do a shot?” No thank you, I’ll take my liquor with lime juice and Triple Sec, plz.

“Want to try this carrot cake?” No thank you, Harry, I can’t eat gluten.

“Want to go to Broadway?” No thank you, I’d prefer to go to bed.

In many ways, however, being a No Girl originates less from personal boundaries and more from fear. Fear and I happen to be pretty tight; we talk on the daily. Fear has been the primary consultant for many of my life decisions, in fact.

A Song for Growth

A year ago, a friend of mine got a job at a well known tech company. He had been slogging through the interviews, and he finally got an offer. Obviously he deserved it. He was a hard worker, and his attitude for success and life was admirable to say the least. I knew he was beyond qualified.

But at the time, I was on a career path I couldn’t see myself being happy in. I had made the mistake of staying in the industry mainly for the money. Every month in the industry was a reminder of how much I did not want to stay. It created a nasty cycle of overthinking and career angst. Feelings of inadequacy and existentialism rooted themselves deep inside me. I couldn’t focus on anything and was utterly disconnected from the work I was doing.

I admit I wasn’t happy for him.

Graduation, Life, RelationshipsIssy DaviesJuly 30, 2017FeaturedComment

It's Okay To Be Imperfect

FREE PRINT

Enter your email below to receive your free downloadable print!

magazine Blog

Contact SUBMIT