Dec 31, 2018 |
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
Welcome to the New.
Can I just tell y’all how hard it is for me to write this post? I mean this post, with that word in the title. Oh, yes. THAT word.
PERFECT.
It’s like a flashing neon arrow pointing right at me, screaming “HYPOCRITE!”
It’s a little funny, dontcha think? After last month’s post about embracing my imperfections? The thing is… I just don’t know where to start. Wait. That makes it sound like I have way too many imperfections. Okay, stop nodding in agreement, brother. I know where you live.
Frankly, My Dear . . . The Perfect Start
Anyway. I’m imperfect. CHECK. But I’m trying. CHECK. And I want to move forward. Uhm, check?
How does a perfectionist move forward with imperfections? Well, for This Girl, I’m just gonna start. Someone once told me, “Three steps forward and two steps back is still one step forward.”
I HAVE LISTS.
#truestory. I have list upon list upon list of things I want to do this year. Posts to blog. Books to read. Things to learn. Recipes to create. Experiences to, well, experience.
I’ve already embraced the imperfections of my planning skills and allowed myself to scribble in my Happy Planner. *gasp* Insert SCREAM face here, right?!
Well, being as I’m now what is known as a true Southerner, I queried my local writing friends over a cup of Starbucks. Cuz, you know, we’re writers. We need the coffee to do the thinking to do the writing. And I’m an extrovert. I need the talk to do the energy to do the writing. Put me in a social setting with caffeine and BAM! Instant Bohemian Hurricane. Anyway, focus: Yes. I received some excellent advice on doing a blog relaunch. Now, I’m not going to do a big Facebook Live Event. But I am going to narrow my focus. Rather, refocus my focus. Good gravy there’s a lot of focus in this paragraph and I still haven’t gotten to the point. *sigh*
IMPERFECT POST: CHECK.
I’ve kept myself locked in a holding pattern, unable to do anything but circle the target. I can’t fly away, I can’t land. Until I get the gears and the mechanics and the passengers (uhm, that would be all of you) in just the write right place, I can’t do anything. So I do nothing.
BIG UNCHECK HERE, PLEASE.
I’ve been wanting to relaunch Frankly, My Dear . . . with a stronger emphasis on the four tenets I’ve held all along: Faith, Family, Food, and Fun (Fun being the one that incorporates the outings and the writings and the everything elses that happen in life). Edie and Cathy told me to just keep doing what I’m doing. But, keep doing it. Don’t sit back and wait for it to magically appear. After all, Harry Potter doesn’t live in Simpsonville. So, think of the Four F’s as the legs of a table. And you’re all invited. And since I’m a true Southerner now (can y’all tell I just love saying that?!), I want to keep in line with the whole Southern Gone With the Wind “Frankly, My Dear . . .” theme. I mean, I just wouldn’t be me if I didn’t tell it like it is from my perspective.
Sidenote: Someone told me it takes ten years to become a true Southerner. Someone else countered it doesn’t take any time at all. In NOLA, Toni tells Josie what it’s like to be a local. This is where my good friend Beckie Lindsey would say, “You’re being Josie!” And this is where I agree.
Excerpt from NOLA by Molly Jo Realy
[Click here to join my NOLA Swarm Facebook group]
So, ultimately, it comes down to boiling the potato like this: Do I want to start, or do I want to stagnate? Given that I’m adverse to mold and immobility, I choose the former. And I hope you’ll come to the table. There’s plenty to go ’round. And I hope you’ll keep me accountable to what’s on the menu.
With a heaping plate and a pitcher of tea,
Happy Everything.
~Molly Jo
And Frankly, My Dear . . . That’s all she wrote!
Dec 8, 2018 |
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
Zoiks! (Said in my best Scooby-Doo imitation). What a whirlwind. Some might suggest my life has been a bit of a hurricane lately. Hmmm…
I don’t know where I got the idea that being a Bohemian Hurricane went hand-in-hand with perfectionism. ‘Cause you know what? It doesn’t. [Stop nodding, mother. And don’t say anything when we call later.] Anyway, yes. I haven’t blogged because I haven’t written because I’m still unpacking from the beautiful chaos of having moved cross-country six weeks ago and downsized from a three bedroom house to a two bedroom apartment and helping Berry Sunshine cross the Rainbow Bridge and meeting and greeting all the people I moved to be close to and buying winter clothes (for the South? Are you even serious right now?!) and figuring out how to catch my breath and as of this moment, preparing to enjoy my first Southern snowfall. (So, yes. Back to the winter clothes thing. Apparently it is serious down here.) [Note to self: Get Starbucks card for Edie as thank you for finding the perfect coat when I had given up the search.]
Frankly, My Dear . . . That One Time I Didn’t Have to Be Perfect
Now, y’all know part of the main reason I moved was to be needy attach to surround myself with some of the best writers I know: my peeps from Blue Ridge. Yes, that Blue Ridge. The Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference that I go to each year. The same one where Steve Laube and I are now expected to throw Scooby Snacks at each other every year. The same one where I do incredibly stupid things like shout at people at inappropriate moments (although, really. Bless your heart. Is there ever a wrong time to yell, “You go, girl!” or “Aaron Gansky? Ohmagosh, I know him!”?). The same conference that I attend every May, and every June tell all y’all how my life has changed and I’m better for it, and my writing will be better for it . . . yadayadayada. I. Know.
But this time, it’s different. Because this time, I’m surrounded by perfectly imperfect writing people. And I love them completely. And they love me. As imperfect as I am. What an example! What mentors they are without even trying.
And I realize I don’t have to have a perfectly clean house or perfectly quiet area or perfectly planned plot (Okay, say that last one five times fast!) to accept their friendships. Or to be who I am. I just have to keep writing. Keep cleaning. Keep breathing. Keep being me.
You know . . . Keep on Keepin’ On.
And when I make mistakes, it’s not the end of the world. If I leave a dirty dish in the sink for a day, if I don’t check the mail or respond to a message right away, if I have a typo or missing punctuation, the world doesn’t really end. *GASP*. I know. But it’s true! I’m totally living proof!
I have to stop waiting to get everything perfect in my head and heart before sharing it, even with myself. I have to let go of the image of a perfect Facebook-post-worthy me. Cuz let’s be real. That rarely happens. Snow angels have boot prints leading up to them. My life is quite often the epitome of #NailedItFail, okay?
I gotta take what I have and move it forward. Whatever that means. Hey, you get a small ding on your car, do you junk it? No way. You have a story to tell. Your bananas turn brown before you eat them all. Toss ’em? Uh-uh. Make banana-walnut bread! What am I waiting for?
Imperfections are the lessons we teach ourselves. It’s where we learn to be creative and allow ourselves to find alternate solutions. It’s the pieces of our mosaic selves and the music we didn’t intend to sing.
Imperfections are not failures.
I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.
~Thomas A. Edison
My word for 2019 is IMPERFECT.
And I’m going to embrace it perfectly.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Perfectly Imperfect
With a scribbled-in notebook and a snowflake covered sleeve,
Happy imperfecting.
~Molly Jo
And Frankly, My Dear . . . That’s all she wrote!
