I have spent the last twenty minutes typing, deleting, re-typing, trying to think of something vaguely insightful & hopefully amusing to write about. I have lots of things that I could post about:
*my on-going battle with toiletries (of which, the Lipbalm Chronicles warrant a post in their own right)
*my ambiguous feelings about facebook (I find it really useful for keeping in touch with people but also find it has an insiduous effect on my moods)
*the end of my love affair with general women’s magazines (this had been on the wane for some time but the final realisation that it’s over struck me while on holiday)
*my somewhat macabre obsession with couples & trying to figure out what makes them tick, what holds them together etc
*the revelation that our self-loathing is often what we fear other people really think about us (I read this & totally identified with it as true; trouble is, I’m not sure what to do with this information now that I have it – how will it help me to tackle the waves of self-loathing that often wash over me?)
Distilling all these things in a couple of sentences has been easy, but I couldn’t write a larger coherent post about any of them because I was putting myself under too much pressure to write – and to write insightfully & wittily. This is ironic as a major theme in my journal this week has been pressure. Namely why do I put myself under so much pressure? I think I’ve blogged about this before. I seem to be constantly striving towards some unobtainable goal of perfection: at work, with friends, with family, with my hobbies, with my appearance.
What’s makes me feel most sad is that I know I have let go of so much pressure in this respect. I am now far more relaxed & laid-back than I ever have been. Yet still, the spectre of perfection lingers: pushing me, driving me, criticising me. Sometimes I feel paralysed by it. Like this evening, trying to write this post. So, while I’m a big fan of the Fairground Attraction song (it’s one of my singstar favourites), I’m going to rephrase their famous lyrics: it hasn’t got to be perfect. This post – like my life – doesn’t have to be perfect. It doesn’t have to be insightful or witty. It just is. And that is good enough.