Chaos and clarity

When my mind is a mess, writing is the best remedy. Sometimes I just need to put words to paper (or, in this case, screen) to make the chaos make sense. I don't need to write about anything in particular. I just need that therapeutic release that comes from spilling my thoughts out in the form of words.

It saves me from myself when what I want more than anything is to do something irresponsible or reckless. It stops me from doing things I'll regret. It keeps me sane in my most crazed moments. So, please excuse me while I spill out the contents of my brain here and attempt to find my way through this maze of muddled thoughts.

My life, at this very moment, is chaos. Let's just call it what it is. Don't get me wrong. I know that no one's life is a perfectly straight, continuous row of days, hours, and split seconds that make perfect sense. Life, in it's general sense is not a series of puzzle pieces that fit together flawlessly. That is quite clear.

It occurred to me quite some time ago that my life was not, is not, and will not ever be perfect. And I swiftly came to terms with that reality. I'm okay with it. Truly. Perfection has kind of always bored me anyway. I need messy. It gives me something to do with my time, my mind, my hands.

As a child, I was the epitome of an obsessive compulsive perfectionist. So much so, that I think it might have driven me mad. But, as the years passed and series of events unfolded that jolted and transformed my world, I also transformed. I let go of that itching need to make everything neat and tidy. I let go of the idea of perfection. It can't be achieved and, even if it can, it can't be preserved. Perfection only shows its shining face in fleeting moments and then quickly dwindles away into sweet memories stored away in those hopeful corners of our minds for safe keeping.

I gave up on perfection long ago. So I see my life now, in its present state, as merely normal. But, despite this normalcy, I still find the chaos magnificent. I may not have any clue which direction I'm going, or which direction I should go, but unpredictable has kind of become my thing.

Absolutely nothing is making sense right now. I'm caught in the in-between in nearly every aspect of my existence. Maybe I should be worried. My mother certainly is, just ask her. Or don't. But I'm not worried. I'm blowing in the wind and I'm letting my seeds scatter where they may. Just call me a dandelion.

I'm a wildflower. I'm messy. I'm in the midst of chaos. But I'm living and I'm growing. And, at the end of the day, I'm happy. I'm uncertain, sure. Scared? Absolutely. But worried? No. I'm sleeping on this couch just fine. I often say that I can get by with very little and I'm learning that I was pretty right on about that.

I have everything I need. So what if it isn't perfect? I'm perfectly happy. Just let me be a wildflower.