“Unfinished, Imperfect, Unexpected”
A dear friend told me that she kept these words on a piece of paper on the dashboard of her car. Process words; kind, encouraging and expansive. They are visible in my home, along with a big heart drawn below them. Every time I see those words, I breathe. Unfinished; full of potential. Imperfect; wounded, mistaken and misdirected, but open. Unexpected; graceful and full of wonder.
But, I was trained in logic, and excelled at it for years. At least professionally. My brain still does the , “if this, then this,” scenarios, but today, I know it’s just a pattern of thought. I’ve never thought my way into a wonderful experience. Not once. And, I haven’t abandoned thinking either. It’s just that I’ve arrived in some new terrain, and I really know that there are no new ideas. When my philosophy professor said that there were no new ideas, I thought he was a genius. That was 30 years ago.
There is a faculty of being that I’ve relied on since I recovered from alcoholism. Tough to describe, but trusting it feels like there is always enough, while my mind tells me that I will never have enough or be enough. My friend Christi told me early in recovery to pay attention when I left my home. She reminded me that I would be bombarded with images and ideas that I wasn’t good enough. God knows, I didn’t need to leave my home to feel that way.
The only thing I can say for real, is that it’s okay for me not to know what to do at times. I will, when I need to. I deeply trust these liminal spaces, because there is growth in them. To be centered and poised and present to what shows up. Yep, to allow revelation instead of planning.
Simple things remind me to stay open to life, and to trust the process. I just opened a birthday card from a dear friend. This is what it said,
“Some people make others happy by simply being who they are. Happy birthday to one of those people.”
So precious to me.
“Unfinished, Imperfect, Unexpected.”