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I know I promised photos of my new obsession, jersey knit. Truth is, after uploading a photo to Saturday’s post, I realized that I wasn’t exactly finished with project. The neckline needed a few more circles to fill in the spaces that look gaping in the photo. In real life, it wasn’t so bad, but photos tend to expose flaws the naked eye easily misses. IZ insisted that it was “fine”—I secretly sewed on just a few more. An afternoon of surreptitiously adding rosettes and I think I’m happy with it now. Maybe.

This is a habit in my life. The “I’ll just tweak it a bit more” compulsion is really my inner perfectionist making herself heard. It’s why IZ once painted a kitchen 5 times before he came to his senses and told me enough. It’s why deadlines are a good thing. It’s why I’ll never publish anything without one. I’m never content to just leave things as is. Tweak, tweak, fuss, fuss, frustration, obsess, re-write, obsess some more, this word, that word, pulling my hair out now, knot in my stomach. The progression is as pointless as it is predictable. Let it go, is not in my vocabulary. In any language.

I wish my inner perfectionist would stay in her place. I don’t mind the needling with my writing. I’ve come to expect it and I don’t know that I could actually write without her tyrant voice in my ear. But, it’s not helpful when you’re learning a new skill, like, say, sewing. And I’ve tried very hard to banish the red-headed bossy girl in my head to another realm when I sit down at a sewing machine. Surely she can find someone else to criticize for a few hours? Surely she has silver to polish or floors to clean in her realm, right? I can keep her at bay for a few hours, but I’m rarely successful at outright banishment. Instead, she shows up after I’m done, to pick, pick, pick at my mistakes.

I’m riddled with self doubt. That might surprise you, but it’s true. I have no reason to be, really. Any more than you do. But, that doubt is the lens through which I see so much of what I do. What shows up are the mistakes, of which there are plenty in this wee t-shirt of mine. Some of them are intentional: as in, I didn’t finish any of the edges. That was a choice I made, because I wanted a certain effect and I figured a first time sewing project in knit should be simple. Other mistakes are learning lessons, opportunities to do it differently next time. This is what I tell her, my perfectionist. She doesn’t listen.

Yet, I’m ridiculously proud of myself. Despite the fits and starts, despite the errors and mistakes, this shirt FITS. And I made it without a pattern. I used a completely new-to-me presser foot. Figured out how to program my machine to stitch in overlock. Best of all, I actually finished something for myself.

I can’t help but notice, even here, that it’s my mistakes I start with… the primary lens through which I’ve been looking. Perhaps it’s time for a new lens? I mean, what could be possible if I didn’t focus my flaws and instead, noticed the potential? Who would I be, if I could start with what I learned, with what I gained, with what I conquered, with what I want to become? If I was the kind of person who asked, “What can go right?” instead of focusing on what can go wrong. Who would I be, if I evicted my inner perfectionist? I can’t help but wonder.

Who would you be?