Appreciation of Butterflies – Four

Hello, night owl!  I didn’t write you last night – unless I did in my dreams?  I conked out at about 8 pm, cozied up in my big sweater and new shawl.  You know how we’d say, “Just five more minutes–I’m resting my eyes?”  Well, I rested my eyes — until it was almost 7 am!

Today was better.  I got the positive feedback I sorely needed.  My job is hard.  We spend all day untangling misunderstandings.  It’s an effort to remember the difference between an uncomfortable problem and the person deconstructing it.  I do need people to remember, though.  And today, they did.

I have other quandries weighing in my heart, of course – agonies to be relished for their umami tenderness.  I don’t want to let them go.  My perfectionism drives me to grasp at all the uncertainties — certain I should be able to pluck the right answer from the pile.  But the right answer is almost always just, “Try.  See what happens.”  Maybe perfectionism is simply the fancy suit I put on over my naked fear – instead of standing there, quaking in nothing but my boots.  The things I’m waiting to say won’t even fully form themselves in the safety of my imagination.  Because waiting seems better than the answer I don’t want.  This strategy is the worst sort of plan:  relying on time instead of the truth to bring us the portion we want from life.

Oh, if I write too late at night, I do start to sound a little ProFound, huh?  So we’ll leave it there with the butterfly glow for a nightlight.  We’ll make some new pictures tomorrow, honey – and see what you think the answer might be.  Brave enough for both of us.  Love you, dear. B.



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