As children, we didn’t care if we were coloring in the lines. We only cared that we were turning that black and white line art into something vibrant and alive as we watched the colors explode across the page; and we loved our pink frogs or our silver leafed trees against orange skies. We imagined other worlds.
We didn’t give a damn how anyone might think we looked when we moved our little bodies to music that touched our soul and made us giggle. That wasn’t even considered. We only wanted to dance to the beat of our little hearts.
And we didn’t have to be the best swimmer, or bike rider, or runner, or roller skater, or tree climber. As kids, we did those things because they were fun! We did them to feel the energy coursing through our bodies—the wind in our hair—the cool water against our skin on a hot day.
Then one day…
Well, I remember telling my little sister that if she wasn’t going to color in the lines she wasn’t allowed to color in my coloring book anymore.
Things change.
Things start becoming about results instead of the experience. They become about “achievement” and “doing it right.”
They become about “perfection.”
I know, for myself, somewhere along the way I forgot to play. I forgot to give myself permission to experiment, to make mistakes...to learn...to improve. If I felt I couldn’t do something well right off the bat, I began not to even want to try. I began to compare myself to others.
As an adult, instead of enjoying the way the clay felt in my hands during a pottery-throwing class, I noticed myself envying people who were making more beautiful pieces than I. I wanted to be “a natural” at it and was filled with frustration when it wasn’t happening—instead of enjoying the process.
And I don’t think I’m the only one.
“Anything worth doing is worth doing badly.”
G.K. Chesterton
That little voice of perfectionism kills our creativity. It kills our genius and our childlike wonder. We start spending our time beating ourselves up and second guessing ourselves instead of reveling in our imaginations.
These days I am trying to be gentler with myself. I am trying to remember to give myself some grace. To smile more and give myself up to the waves of possibility again.
I’m hoping you’ll join me. Let yourself play with your dreams. Play with a set of drawing pencils while you listen to your favorite music. Go for a walk in nature. Pull down a recipe book from your kitchen shelf and try something you’ve never tried before. Spend some time at a funky coffee house with a favorite pen and a notebook to write in. Whatever strikes your fancy and gets your creative juices flowing.
Yesterday, I found a little piece of writing I called “James and Bobo” among my Google Docs. Just something I was playing with...it turned out to be a children’s story.
It begins:
“A boy loved a toy.
When he squeezed it, it would murmur and open its eyes. And then it would giggle. It looked like a soft gray pterodactyl with blue wings.”
I wrote it about two years ago and didn’t think much about it again. When I looked at it yesterday, I thought: Maybe, just maybe, I need to do more of that.
