I learned something about myself today. I’m a perfectionist. My husband doesn’t think so, but now I know so.
In my perfect world, I could do everything slowly. Carefully. Exactly. Precisely. . And it wouldn’t matter how long each thing took to do, or how long it took to DECIDE what to do.
But that’s just not reality. Life is all rush, rush, rush, hurry, hurry, hurry, what do you mean they haven’t eaten yet?
So I go through life, slapping it all together, doing a craptastic job of things that have deadlines. Like supper.
Now, I’m being extreme, but I’m trying to make a point.
Im my sewing, time stops. I can go as slow as I want. Each stitch can be just right. I can proceed to the next step, or I can think about it for as long as I want until I am sure how I want to proceed. And when my project is done? It’s perfect. Every time. Unless I rush. When I rush, I make mistakes, in sewing, and in life.
So I am just going to continue to put the breaks on when I sew. I am not going to give in to pressure to whip projects out one after another. That doesn’t make me happy. Nothing makes me happier than when something I lay hands to turns out perfect. Obviously life can’t be like that. So I will indulge my desire for perfection with my sewing. Just me and my machine, chug chug chugging along. One perfectly planned stitch at a time.