Crushing.
Feels personal.
Sprinkles not-good-enough pop rocks all over my enthusiastic, hopeful heart.
I was running an experiment. Instead of just cleaning house, I was reframing it in my mind as “chop wood, carry water.” Minimalism for the nervous system — theirs and mine.
When I heard “let me think about it,” my shame child came and sat in my lap. At my invitation.
Why didn’t that fly?
Was it because I said… blah, blah, blah?
There’s the rehearsing.
There’s second-guessing holding hands with self-doubt.
I thought I had exiled those two.
Nope. They’ve just been building forts in an empty field while I asked for space.
Now I feel dejected. Uncertain. What did I do wrong?
Remember: I’m a beginner. And I’m not desperate (yet).
Gus once said I’d need patience after he died.
He wasn’t wrong.
I’m not very good at patience.
I move from extreme to extreme at the speed of light. It’s learned behavior, wrapped in a buoyant personality. But watch what happens when I get a “think” — which can feel as good as a no thank you.
Bye.
It stings.
Still, I like the idea of building frustration tolerance. That seems part and parcel to risk. To being a beginner. To sucking at something before finding steadier ground. The alleged journey toward “expert.”
Am I not enjoying the journey?
Am I a waste of space, as they used to say?
It’s up to me to regulate my wild emotional children who prefer the outer edges. Ambivalence is not their native language. It’s yay or nay. Move on. Move along.
But then come the shadows. The clouds. The dark vapors rising from the basement.
What now?
Pause.
Feel the shame creep into my cheeks.
Feel the energy drain down my legs and out my toes.
Is this the moment I self-abandon?
Make it about not being enough?
Who do I think I am?
Not exactly confidence building.
Here’s the rub with wabi sabi: the practice of accepting impermanence and imperfection — as best one can.
Is anything ever perfect? Only in flashes, by my reckoning. Every moment carries mixed weather.
What am I feeling right now?
Disappointment.
And also a steadying hand on my own shoulder.
“Let me think about it.”
Sunlight streaming through the windows. Spring arriving anyway.
A small pulse of pride — I wish it were bigger — that I spoke out loud about experimenting with expectations and nervous system regulation for myself and my new house-cleaning clients.
Maybe I’ll leave that part out next time.
Maybe I won’t.
Wabi sabi as a daily diet. Not transcendence. Not mastery.
Just staying.
