- things that must be done
- places that must be visited
- items that must be delivered.
. . . Perfectionism is a mean, frozen form of idealism, while messes are the artist's true friend. What people somehow (inadvertently I'm sure) forget to mention when we were children was that we need to make messes in order to find out who we are and why we are here—and, by extension, what we're supposed to be writing [creating]. -Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird [my parentheses]
I tell you this story because I think we all have those little moments, unexpected and yet small little sparks that turn an otherwise lackluster, dreary, or even just regular old day into something that has an edge of magical serendipity to it. The difficult part is recognizing that moment of kismet, that millisecond of magic that can change your whole outlook. Recognising the signs that are meant for us is the trick, and in this case Don't Walk has never looked so fortuitously good to me.
And so, that moment at the crosswalk has made me want to begin the weekend differently. Friday is usually clean up day: put things away, neaten up the piles, decide if I really need all those supplies out on my painting table. I have made a huge mess in my studio this afternoon and I am not cleaning it up. Not today, nor tomorrow, not even the next day.
This weekend has been deemed the Weekend of Making Messes. I am daring myself not to pick up even one little piece of paper, not to put one book away on the shelf. I am daring myself to look more clearly at all the things I want to be doing/creating with my life. And for you reading: I wish you too, a weekend of happy, creative, discovery-filled soul-lifting mess.
Oh, and the pile of laundry on the bedroom floor that has begun to growl at me when I walk past, I'm planning to ignore that too . . .