How to tell the perfect lie

I used to joke about being a “perfectionist” in my work. It was drilled into us in graphic design art school. Your project had to be fast, low cost, and – by god – perfect. You weren’t a professional unless your product was clean, tight, and flawless. “Practice doesn’t make perfect,” one instructor quoted. “Perfect practice makes perfect.”

I carried that lie around with me for years, decades even, and fully believed it. Anything less than perfect meant I wasn’t good at my job, and I couldn’t dare call myself an artist. It kept me from experimenting, playing, taking risks. It kept me from growing as a creative. The fear of being exposed as a fraud was paralyzing. Fear fed my imposter syndrome, which had an unexpected side effect – I erroneously thought someone else had the answers. Someone else was an expert. I was just waiting until I, too, would finally understand the trade secrets. 

The thing about squares is that it’s obvious when they don’t line up. It’s a little cattywampus, but that just adds to the charm of handmade gifts like this little artist’s pencil pouch. Go out yonder and make something in your most unhinged way.

The secret is we’re all figuring it out as we go, even the “experts” (though some would have you believe otherwise, but that’s an entirely different topic). I was chatting with a friend a number of years my senior. She was waiting, too. She was hoping someone, somewhere could be her mentor in a field she had worked in for decades. That person would appear, know all the things she needed to know, and impart them to her. A perfect mentor.

But mentors aren’t perfect. Our parents, our leaders, our childhood idols, our historical figures – not perfect. There’s a reason we call ancient stories Greek tragedies. The lust, envy, and avarice of the gods were their undoing. Where did this idea that our heroes should be perfect emerge?

I gave it a liner and a zipper so she can store stuff in it. I went wild and didn’t even measure anything. Absolutely feral in construction. The untamed nature of the process pairs well with the soft, gentle pinks and whites.

I made the mistake of reading a friend’s social media post. Well, not her post, but the comments that came after. It was tit-for-tat, all-or-nothing retorts. Perfection playing out across the political divide, each side blaming the other for their leaders’ mistakes. Not a single person admitted that “their guy” had done anything wrong, had made a bad call. An admission of guilt meant there was a flaw, and a flaw meant their side was wrong. 

In a political climate where being “right” is tied to a person’s identity, it’s easy to see how we’ve lost our objectivity. It’s easy to see why we can’t seem to be curious, to have conversation, to ask questions. It’s easy to see why so many of us pushed back when exposed to a different perspective on history than what we were taught as kids. We couldn’t admit that our heroes weren’t perfect. We can’t admit that nothing is perfect. 

I think the real failure isn’t in imperfection. It’s failing to see that making mistakes is part of making things better. Right now, the losses are great: loss of connection, loss of community, and a loss of our own sense of self and identity. This is the result of needing to be right at all costs.

It’s the perfect pitfall.

Ode to the coyote that pooped in my neighbor’s yard

You know the drill. You get an emergency alert on your friendly neighborhood app. You check it to find the emergency is actually a neighbor who is upset about a stolen package or, in this case, a coyote desecrating their property. The message that follows is often of indignation, and I often wonder who they are actually talking to. 

I mean, I’m blogging. Who am I actually talking to?

Like, number one or number two?

Don’t get me wrong; I’d be furious if a porch pirate took off with my package, regardless of the value. Waiting for my deliveries is like same-day or next-day Christmas. I think anyone who’s had property stolen, rifled through, or vandalized can relate. It’s a violation. It makes you feel unsafe and insecure. It makes you angry.

In anger, folks will turn to shaming and scold these thieves on social platforms, but are those very thieves reading the neighborhood apps? No. If they were, would they feel remorse? Also probably no.

What I find most interesting, though, is how we can point out the injustice done to us without self-reflecting on the injustices done to others throughout history. How we can suddenly say “this isn’t fair!” while still questioning the validity of another person’s lived experience. The worst part? Hoping someone will listen. 

Well, we’re all listening now. Many of us are asking how we got here. Only some of us recognize we’ve always been here. And, sadly, very few of us are wondering why it’s been so hard to understand injustice until now, when their precious packages are threatened. 

It’s also sad that a self-described victory isn’t enough unless it’s a zero-sum game. Scorched earth. Plow the salt deep. The problem with revenge is that no one wins. The victors don’t realize it until it’s too late for them, too. 

So, in this moment of everything being carelessly torn down in anger and vengeance, my hope is that the right folks will emerge to build it back up again. Let’s not let this point in history be a total loss. Because this is precious.

Oh and in my red, white, and seasonal blues, I made another scarf. 

But not actually red, white, and blue.

The shape of things

I’ll keep it short today. 

I’ve been reflecting lately about the things that leave an impression that we cannot see. How we’re too close to our own behavior to see it from the outside, to see it objectively, and to see the impact it leaves on everyone around us. If we’re lucky, someone will point it out to us. 

That happened to me recently. I didn’t realize I was worrying about everything – big and small – and has it ever been exhausting. There’s certainly a lot of valid things to worry about lately. Coupling deep concern about national politics with stressing over spilled beer, though, and my mental health is taking a hit. 

So, I haven’t felt particularly creative or light-hearted. That’s okay. Instead, I decided to reflect on and share my obsession with shadow shapes and reflections. Both distort the truth. Both tell a story slightly different from the actual. Both hide details.

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Creativity doesn’t have to be complicated or polished. Creativity is to satisfy you. These are moments I noticed in passing and captured with my phone.

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Both also hold truths that we should pay attention to. 

On those difficult, heavy days, please pay attention to your body and rest. Breathe. Save your strength for another day. To fight, to create, to love. 

We can win. Let’s go.

Word of the day: curiosity.

I shared in my previous post that I bought luscious yarn to make a new, as-of-yet-undecided project. I did start it with my usual ribbed pattern and just didn’t care for it. I pulled it apart. Disappointed, I sat for a moment to regroup. I picked up my phone for a distraction.

My friend had texted me. We chatted a bit, and she shared that her stepmother was just diagnosed with breast cancer. She was going to put together a care package including gloves, socks, and hats, so I asked if I could make her a scarf. Goodness knows I’ve made a few lately, and they just sit in my house until they are up on rotation, that moment for them to go out into the world and do their job. 

Be the best scarf they could be.

I had two leftover hanks of yarn and got to work. And I’m going to say what you already know – it feels good to gift a project. It feels purposeful. Useful. It’s giving away a little piece of you (in a good way).

Out into the world with you!

This morning, I put on one of my scarves and headed to breakfast with a dear friend. Over biscuits and hash browns, we talked about family and legacy. We talked about what we inherited from our parents and what they inherited from their parents. On and on it goes, this legacy of culture, tradition, belief, conflict, and hope. There’s a difference between what we own and what we are gifted. What we’ve experienced ourselves, and what those who came before us feel we need to have. 

Little pieces of our ancestors.

I’m not here to argue what is good and what is bad. I can’t say what we should feel responsible for and what we shouldn’t. That’s for each of us to decide. What I can say with conviction is that we bring these gifts with us to each interaction, each decision we make, and that for a moment we might consider what the other person is bringing, too. Together, we make up the whole.

We need to ask questions. I’m a firm believer that curiosity is the foundation of wisdom, intelligence, innovation, and empathy. It’s how we build community. It’s how we trust.

Right now, I wish more of us were curious.

I would sometimes ask my mother about her mother, to know more about where I came from. You see, my mother lost her battle to breast cancer over 20 years ago. Before she passed, she told me a story about her own mother dying when she was very young. “I remember her long, black hair laid out next to her in the casket,” she said. With cancer, my mother didn’t have long, black hair, or any hair for that matter, but she had stories and memories and a life lived. 

So, all that to say, go make a thing with your own two hands. Put a piece of your heart into it, and then give it away. It doesn’t need to be perfect, it just needs to be from you. At the end of the day, it’s the connections we make that matter the most. 

Go be the best you that you can be.

Well, let’s go!

The blank page is quite intimidating. It’s that kind of quiet loud, like your house after all the guests have left and the music is off. You’re left with warm memories and putting everything back in its place. I suppose that’s my blog right now – the intimidating blank canvas of yarn, warm memories of the last successful* project, and putting the upcoming project’s pieces in place. 

Publicly.

Is it loud in here? Just me? Okay.

Why so loud?

I have five gorgeous hanks of yarn and, according to a Pinterest search, endless possibilities. Just like a brand new sketchbook or journal, it’s hard for me to make that first mark because what if I mess it up? What if it’s not perfect? What if I ruin it?

What if I don’t?

Thing is, even if you’re sketching in pen, you can make a new sketch on a separate page and tape it over the journal pages. If I decide on a scarf and hate it, I can always take it apart and start over. The only sad thing is to not start, which is what this space is all about. The other sad thing is five hanks of yarn collecting hair and dust. Gross.

I had leftover yarn from a sweater project kicking around for months. I finally turned it into a color block scarf, keeping my hands busy when my mind wants to sprint.

If you’re new here, great! Me, too! Welcome. Come build this space with me. Let’s make stuff. Let’s ruin art supplies. When everything feels hard, let’s get creative and play.

Color, color everywhere!

*The definition of success is up to the artist. Don’t let someone tell you what your heart is worth. I will die on this hill.