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.

Virtual Treasure

I have been going through 5 years' worth of emails at work. We are finally upgrading our email system and once it happens all the old emails will be archived. Given I won't be working there much longer anyway, it seemed like a good idea to just trash them all. I started deleting whole folders but then I came to the personal folder and inside the bulk of emails were made up of ones from my husband. I couldn't click delete on them straightway, I had to have a little glance.

Captured are our meaningless conversations that mimic the spoken word but unlike speech, where the words are gone forever, these are sitting on the screen for me to review any time I like. I started to wonder why I kept them in the first place. It's the same with text message, the ones from Hubby I don't delete. It's a virtual record of our relationship. I know I will never go back and read through them again and the only text worth keeping is the first one he sent me. But then that text is etched in my mind forevermore like the first page of a great romance.

People say emails are the modern day love letters. I disagree. In real letters thought and care and attention goes into it. Email is simply verbal garbage captured in the internet ether. There is no poetic language, no declarations of love, no heartfelt sonnets. Merely snippets of conversation. Why hold onto them? An email asking my beloved to pick up milk on the way home and his reply of "Ok, love you".

However while deleting the trash in the virtual ocean of emails I pleasantly discovered a handful of gems worth treasuring. These emails are the few where one of us stood still for a moment to truly think about the other and to express that thought with carefully chosen words. It was a simple gift wrapped with a bow to be opened and read and to make the recipient smile. Reading them now makes me smile and reflect on our history. I will hang onto the select few and store them away at home to be rediscovered in another 5 years time when I am once again sorting the trash from the treasure.

10 Things I Wish I Was Better At

1) Photography.  Take a look around my blog, I take awful pictures. I keep meaning to learn how to take better pictures but it's still on my "To Do" List. The problem is I'm too impatient and not bothered with the knobs on the camera. The camera stays on "Auto" and I click. Job done.

2) Flower Arrangements.  You know how you can buy flowers cheaper and arrange them yourself?  Well I have tried that, and I fail each time. I love fresh flowers but I'm forced to pay extra for someone to make them look nice. And sometimes I even stuff up when I put them in a vase. I need help.

3) Fashion.  My wardrobe consists of jeans with plain tops and skirts with singlets along with a small selections of dresses. I would love to be fashionable, but I can never pull it off. I used to try but always failed - epically. To ensure I don't risk being a fashion tragic I stick to the plain and boring.

4) My Hair.  This is a sore spot but I do have two hair styles; out and straight or pulled back into a ponytail. The girls that can do fashion also have the ability to do great hair and do a vast array of things with it. Again I have tired, and failed. I'm told there are great videos on You Tube to teach me, but if I had time to do that, I think it would be better spent learning how to take photos or flower arranging.

5) Being a Social Butterfly. I am quite social and can put on a good show, when I am surrounded by people I know very well. When it comes to new people I am the shy one arguing with myself in my head about what to say and then beating myself up for what comes out of my mouth. I can manage OK with one on one but in a group situation I struggle and end up being the great listener.

6) Eating Vegetables.  I know they are good for me and they should make up the bulk of my diet, but I was a kid of the 80's. Before food allergies and a focus on real food, we lived on crap and turned our noses up at a plate of vegetables (usually overcooked in the microwave as was the fashion of the time). I would fill up on additive laden chemical concoctions like Frosties and Fruit Loops and biscuits and cakes and muffins. And now, it doesn't matter how many cooking shows I watch I still struggle to eat the good stuff.

7) Home Decorating.  It always feels like something is missing. While I try and aim for a unique style that reflects our personalities, I seem to miss the mark. I want each room to look a little sharper and more polished, I constantly feel that it is not quite done just yet and I don't know how to finish it off.

8) Dancing.  There was a reason I didn't go to many clubs in my younger years, because I cannot dance. I've tried to learn but it was difficult. When I find myself at a wedding I tend to just stick on the outskirts of the dance floor and move my feet from side to side, it's awkward just thinking about it. I would love to be one of those people that rocks the dance floor with everyone looking on admiring, but that will never be me.

9)Travelling.  I don't fly, the few times I have was over 10 years ago, but a phobia set in, I'm not sure how or why. My husband loves flying and trained to be a pilot, so he enjoys watching TV shows like Air Crash Investigations. This does not help, I would like to get on a plane and go travel to Europe but it is always in the future so I don't need to deal with it in the present moment.

10) Dieting.  Some people say if you really want to lose the weight then you will. Others say embrace what you have and love your body. I try and diet and I try to love my body. I really love my curves, just not the two spare tyres around the middle, I wish I could buff those out into a nice small rounded tummy. I know I could try harder but the pull of cheese and wine and butter and dark chocolate and duck fat potatoes must be stronger than the pull to have a smaller waist size.

Say My Name

The post office lady knows my name, and she says it correctly too. My name is not common and there are quite a few variations of my name each with a different pronunciation. For most of my life I hated my name. No one knew how to say it, or spell it and I was always correcting people and I noticed people just tried not to use my name because they weren't sure. It would trip them up and they didn't want to go there.

This struggle is why I make an effort to use people's names when talking to them. As Dale Carnegie says a person's name is the sweetest sound in the world. For that reason when someone uses my name, saying it correctly and spelling it correctly (it took my mother-in-law 4 years to spell it correctly on the Christmas card) I do a little dance inside and instantly mark that person as someone special.

We have a PO Box, it is down the road at a little corner shop that also serves as post office, newsagent and TAB. That lady that runs it knows my name. Of course she does, it's on my mail that she stuffs in there each day. And given the amount of online purchases I make, especially around Christmas, a lot of boxes are lying around with my name on them waiting for me to collect. Over time she started asking my about my life and other bits and pieces and our relationship started to form and grow. But here is the thing, I don't know her name.

I know quite a few things about her, like she has a dog who is very old and doesn't move much and she doesn't have any children. As soon as I walk in she goes behind the counter to get my mail and my latest purchase, her service is wonderful, she asks about my day, I ask about hers. I smile, she smiles, we chat. She uses my name, and everytime I hear my name it feels like a dagger in my chest. It's too late to ask for her name now. Our relationship is too far gone. We have been acquaintances for years, and I cannot just walk in say "hello" and "FYI what's your name?" But I know she knows I don't know and everytime I hear my name spoken I cannot help but feel her mentally saying to me "Say My Name".

Can You Keep A Secret?

Well I work with some people that can't. It's a painful learning experience when you discover some people can't keep a secret. When I first started here a few years ago, I mentioned something to a certain someone. It wasn't a secret as such, but I wasn't expecting it to be passed along. Yet it was, so I made a note to add this person to the DNT (Do Not Trust) Register.

Towards the end of last year this person, through her network, must have picked up on something. Because suddenly she took a role in our Western Sydney office which was just over a 3 hour round trip. She was always adamant she couldn't travel down there because of her kids, so it was a little strange. It was a job on a top secret project, one that was on the restructuring of the organisation. At the morning tea held for her farewell she told us she signed a confidentially agreement to not reveal to anyone about what was going to happen. I almost chocked on my cake, but hey, give her the benefit of the doubt, right?

No, I was right. She couldn't keep a secret and in due course told our manager what was going down. We were closing. Not just us, but the bulk of the regional and Sydney branches. When the CEO spends our $88 million dollar profit in 5 years and in that time stops us from running a profit, things have got to change. Of course our manager cannot keep anything to himself. There are no secrets in this place and this wasn't going to be the first.

He called me in, he looked serious. I wondered what the issue was, had I done something? Had I upset a client and they complained to head office? What? 

"The branch is closing, I thought I would give you the heads up, but don't tell anyone, I have told X, Y and Z, but whatever you do, don't tell A."

"Is this official?"

"Not yet, it will be, but H told me it is what she is working on, but she will be sacked if she tells anyone, so whatever you do, don't mention her name"

Talk about a rock and a hard place. He tells me confidential information then tells me not to say anything to anyone. So the question is can I keep a secret? Well is turns out I didn't need to, everyone knew and we were now all discussing it in the open. Except A, I felt bad for her, I didn't think it was fair, and I didn't sign a confidentiality agreement. But I do keep secrets, at least the ones that need keeping like personal and private ones. I sussed A out, turns out she knew anyway from another source. What was the point of the confidentially agreement?

The "restructure" is still a secret, even though it seems most of the organisation knows. The latest secret we have heard is on Monday we are being told about the "restructure", you know, officially. Can anyone keep a secret?