Makin' a Mess

So the Deep Truth About Messes has all of a sudden become very real to me. It's changing me. And it's not just about physical Messes that involve paint on the rug, gooey cake batter or cupcake-icing in crevices it should have been physically impossible for it to get in, although that would actually be a really great lesson in the particular phase of life I'm in.


Making Messes means facing feelings head-on, greeting them, finding a good spot for them to sit and entertaining them until they are ready to leave.

Making Messes means letting my old "stuff" resurface and gasp for air, throwing them a life-preserver and reeling them into the dock.

Sometimes it might even mean giving them CPR, handing them a warm, fluffy towel and sitting by the fire with them.

Sometimes it even means letting that rescued-"stuff" kick the crap out of me.

Making Messes means getting out a good pair of pruning shears, taking a good look at the thoughts, priorities and habits I've got growing and cutting the hell out of em', even some of the pretty ones, because I know this will leave room for something even better.

Making Messses means taking a risk. Climbing up that ladder to the highest of really high high-dives that I can't even look at without feeling like puking. Looking down through the air between the me that's standing here and the me I want to be...impossible amounts of air. Stepping forward, toes hanging off, knees shaking, stomach flip-flopping and...

Jumping.


These messes are....messy. I like to avoid them, pretend they're not there, hide them under that big rug no one looks under, dress them up in pretty clothes and generally just not deal. I'm a clean kinda' girl. Don't enjoy dirt. Hate to feel greasy and grimy. Like to be put together when I face the world. Know what I mean? So the prospect of all this mess is definitely not something I relish.

But there's a lot of work to be done. And the results are always so wonderful. So here I go...

Let's get messy. And heck...a cute apron never hurt anybody!