Perfectionism and Procrastination

I had a blog about a decade ago, and I loved it. I enjoyed writing and interacting with other people and watching our little community form and start to grow. I had a job I didn't like much at the time and it was such a treat to come home and say what was on my mind and catch up on the minds of my new virtual friends. But as the blog grew so did the pressure. The pressure for it to be perfect. I reached a point where I froze. I stopped. Procrastination took over and I never went back.

A few years ago I started this blog, my little space in the online universe to record my thoughts and musings. It felt nice to blog again, I didn't realise how much I missed it. But the perfectionism came back and I began to worry about the content and putting out perfect posts. And as a result I slowed down, and this blog has only just plodded along quite randomly in between bouts of procrastination.

I wanted to make a bigger commitment and get over this hump. I was exploring other blogs and then it because worse because they all had a theme. When I googled 'blogging tips' it always came back with having a theme for your blog. So I procrastinated over my theme-less blog. After thinking it over I realised my blog theme is me, and just like me, I have many themes in my life. Many interests and passions, some big, some small. I grow restless with repetition and monotonousness and need to drop things and come back to them later. I cannot commit to a theme on this blog. Life is too rich for me to be so specific.

After this I thought about my blog name. I thought it may give the wrong impression, like I am a journalist for a country lifestyle magazine, writing about rural escapes and flooding this space with heart singing landscape images. So I pondered if I should start again. But what name could I pick that would sum up all of my parts.

Rural dreaming is the most perfect name, because while I have so many dreams, they all link to my rural dreams. A comfy house in the country, surrounded by family and friends staying for a handful of days. And we cook using local ingredients and we eat and we drink. And in these dreams I have my most perfect job and lots of fresh air. There is the occasional weekend escape to the coast and the city where I can indulge in my former city girl life. And in all this I still find time for my most favourite pastime of all, daydreaming.

Rural Dreaming @ Work

There are no windows in our office.  We only have windows at the front and the front is reception and the manager's office.  We are behind the wall and wherever I look I see walls.  Clients come to me and say it's hot or cold or a storm is coming.  I smile and nod.  I have no idea.  I wish I could see, I wish I could sit and gaze out of a window, just for a minute.  Stretch my eyes, my body, my mind, steal a few moments for slipping into another world.

Our lunch room is made up of 4 walls, none have a window. But it isn't just a lunch room, it is our archive room so when sitting down to eat, 3 of the 4 walls are filled with old files, watching, encroaching, suffocating.  I don't bother going outside anymore to escape, beyond the building it is dirty and noisy and rough and everyday the cops are called to deal with a situation at the bus terminal down the road.

I'm over the cabin fever now.  I am used to these walls, the subtle feeling of compression no longer bothers me.  My eyes are used to all the artificial lightening.  I dream about escaping, about an office with windows and fresh air.  About seeing the sun from my desk and being close enough to stick my hand out and feel it's rays.

I have a picture on one wall of my little cubicle. A picture of a worn track leading from one paddock into another and wrapping itself out of the frame.  The sky is overcast and looking at the picture I can feel myself standing on the track wrapping my coat tighter over me and taking deep breaths, allowing the cool crisp air to fill my lungs, my body, bringing me back to life.  I see myself walking along the track, it takes the turn and I run through the green grass. Childish laughter explodes out of my body as I run around in freedom with nothing holding me back.

As a run I spin around a few times and purposefully fall to the ground. My hands search over the grass, the soft edges tickling away whatever anxiety I had left. Looking up I see home. I casually walk through the grass and up onto the verandah and make my way into my study. My desk is directly in front of the window. I open the window and allow the fresh air to fill the room. I sit and gaze through the frame and all around I can see the fulfilment of my rural dreams. And the memories of my time working in an office have been stuffed in a box down the back of the mind in a place not to be opened again.

Not Quite As Young

My mid-thirties has just appeared on the horizon and I'll be hitting that iceberg before I know it. I actually forget my age sometimes. People ask me and I have to think about it. It's weird because I still feel early twenties in my head. I have an idea of 30-something and I know I'm not there yet. That woman is polished and sophisticated and I still feel like I'm playing house.

When I look in the mirror, reality wakes me up as I can see I'm no longer 21. I have a few lines forming around my eyes. Sure I have to stand close and almost fall into the looking glass to see them, but they are there. And I have a few on my neglected décolletage so now my moisturiser application has to keep going down my face and neck and all over that area to prevent any further damage.

Speaking of moisturiser, I treated myself to a facial the other day. The beautician gave me a sample of moisturiser to try. It was thick and heavy and the word "Collagen" was all over the marketing material. I remember moisturiser being light and milky, but I'm in a new age bracket now and the worst thing of all is this cake batter works, my skin looks great after using it for a week.

Then there are the little aches and pains. The sore hip from tennis I had to have treatment on. I remember being younger and if something was sore I left it a few days and my body sorted it out for me. Now my body yells louder until I hand money over for someone to fix it.

And my waistline, what a waste! I spent all my time hating my body, wishing I was thinner and obsessing over a couple of kilos. Now I'm obsessing over double digit kilos and I would give anything to be my younger weight plus 10 kilos. I spent all that time covering up when I should have flaunted those Marilyn-esque curves and loved my body exactly how it was.

I remember leaving school and having a list of things I wanted to accomplish before 25, because that was an old age. Only a handful of those items have been ticked. Sometimes I feel I am playing dress ups and waiting until I become a grown up. While I am wiser and more settled now, being 30-something seems like a stretch. Of course I wouldn't go back. I quite enjoy having this freedom and my own place and the ability to do as I choose. And of course I like having a real income and spending that on a few luxuries now and then. Maybe that is what being 30-something is all about. Perhaps we are still twenty something in our heads pretending to play grown ups.