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

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

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!

The Perfect Start
That One Time I Didn't Have a Midlife Crisis
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