perfectionism in minimalism

homemotherhood

I’ve had a wish list of clothing on my phone for well over 3 years. It’s what I’m supposed to do to be a conscious consumer. Never shop without a list, know exactly what you’re looking for, stick to your list. I have a minimal wardrobe, 10 tops, 5 bottoms, a handful of dresses and shoes. It’s what you’re supposed to do to simplify your morning routine and feel great about yourself. But here’s the thing, I’m still not content with my closet. I know, if I I just dropped 1k on everything on my list, then I’d be happy. I’d feel good about what I’m putting on my body. I’d have the perfect minimalist closet. All my clothes would fit perfect, coordinate well, look adorable, and simultaneously fill the world with rainbows while solving the national debt crisis (is that even a thing anymore? I should skimm it).

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I tend to get caught up in perfectionism and forget about the number one rule of conscious consumerism; use up what you have. Oops. I also have a mild obsession with getting rid of things. Perhaps, that’s not so bad. It helps to keep my house from becoming cluttered. Well, that’s the goal anyway. Reality is that I have piles of junk in every room of my house. Occasionally, the pile is actually full of useful stuff, like my clean clothes. Please tell me I’m not the only grown woman with a floor-drobe.

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As I may have mentioned, I recently finished reading Loving My Actual Life. Taking a cue from Alex, I’m going to spend the next month focusing on appreciating my actual life. Throughout August, I’m going to spend my time wearing my clothes in new ways that will hopefully make me excited about them. I’m going to try to shift my mindset to one of gratitude for the multitude of items I have to choose from and be grateful that I’m not living with only what I had on my back as I fled with my children from war and oppression. It’s my desire that, come the end of this month, I will be overwhelmed with gratitude for what I have (including the sweetest weed bouquet picked by Sadie) and that I will have decreased my desire for perfection.

On Dreams

familyhomemotherhood

It’s a Sunday afternoon. I’m sitting in the backyard holding hands with John, the baby is toddling around, shouting at planes and our chickens are scratching around in the grass. That’s when it hits me, my dream life has become my actual life.

Maybe it’s because loving what’s right in front of me has been on my mind since finishing Loving My Actual Life, but as I’m sitting here I can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

When I dreamt about my future in college, this is what I had in mind. A plot of land to call my own, a gaggle (or one) of kids underfoot, twinkle lights hanging in the trees, and fresh food at my fingertips. To quote my confidant, T Swift, today was a fairy tale.

In a world of chaos and hatred, I think all I can do is love on those closest to me, and pray. Today, a prayer of gratitude, of humbly wondering what mercy brought me this life, when all to easily it could’ve been filled with fear and death. How did we get here? Afraid to leave our home for threat of terror, of mass killings, riots, or misplaced judgements. And now I’ve gotten off topic, funny how your mind takes an unmarked trail when you give it time to wander. This was supposed to be an essay on dreams and I’ve gotten lost. Oh, well; the baby is asking for more o’s so I guess I’ll leave you with that abrupt ending and few snapshots of my dream backyard.

 

 

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