The Perfect is the Enemy of the Good

Some unfortunate aspects of my existence; such as crippling self doubt, potty mouth, and chronic over-posting on Facebook; have been around for a long time.  Others; such as occasionally peeing a little when I sneeze, having the metabolism of a sloth, and not being able to consume caffeine after 2pm; are newer developments.  The brand newest among these, however, is technological ineptitude.  And for better or for worse, that ineptitude put this blog out in a bigger way than intended last week.  

My purpose for being here is really fucking nebulous, which drives me absolutely bananas.  The scientist in me hates subjectivity and results that fall out of expected ranges, and it would seem there’s going to be an awful lot of that going on.  I’ve been writing fairly intensively, albeit in fits and starts, for the past 18 months or so, after participating in a couple of fantastic workshops.  Writing for the sake of writing, with the goal of quantity over quality, a real challenge for a control freak whose primary guiding principle through 41 years of life has been fear of failure.  But also writing with some small kernel of intent of putting content out and actually having someone read it.  Along the way, I even mentioned to one or two folks that I was working on starting a blog with real talk about parenting adolescent kids.   

Still, last Friday when it was revealed to me that the somewhat bristly post I’d just written (and, to be honest, was still kind of working on) was actually being read, my immediate inclination was to find the undo button that I believed must surely exist somewhere. Which I realize completely begs the question: why the eff were you writing shit if you didn’t want anyone to read it? To which I reply: none of your damn business. Just kidding.  My honest answer is simply fear. Of being completely irrelevant, of misrepresenting or misspeaking on topics, of ruffling feathers, of not ruffling feathers, of writing something no one would want to read, of exposing my ignorance, and showing you just how dysfunctional my family is.

So, I’m not sure when I’d have intentionally shared a post of my own writing.  I like to think it would’ve happened fairly soon, but patterns of my life suggest otherwise.  More likely, I’d have waited until I had the perfect first post, that would be loved by one and all, and would relinquish all my fear.  Since all those conditions are impossibilities, well, you can do the math.

For better or worse, here I sit.  New posts will be going up on Mondays and Thursdays at 12pm.  Most of them will consist of me complaining about how stinky and sassy my kids are.  Some of them will will delve a little deeper (white privilege, anyone?).  Truth and honesty will be the overarching theme, which is likely to lead to a lot of hate coming my way.  And that’s ok.  

Til Thursday.

Pro tip:  When your settings look like this, your writing gets posted to FB and Twitter.  In other news, I’m getting old and steadily marching toward technological irrelevance.

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