The Undo Button is Poison

I think I'm far from the first artist to admit I'm a perfectionist. We could probably debate on how much of that is trauma vs. the reality of artistry, but one simple fact remains:

I don't have a garden.

I'm gardenless, shall we say. The yard has a few rocks, perhaps a shoddy sculpture or two abandoned in a corner, a hole I dug because holes are cool. Outside that? Nothing. Bare. You see, I consider myself a passionate gardener, but I've had a hard time finding the right seeds, the right tools, the right soil, the right day, the right time to grow anything. Besides, even if the circumstances were right, I throw away most of the seeds before I even give them a chance to grow. I have all sorts of excuses, of course; it doesn't look right, it's too silly, too generic, too pretentious, it should be nicer, I should be better. I know, logically, that I'll never have the beautiful spread of color & life in my head unless I plant something. And it'll never happen unless I start treating every little seed that comes my way with the attention, love, and patience it deserves.

So, would you stay awhile with me? I'm going to plant a garden-- a garden of thoughts. It's gonna be messy and bare at first, but with time, I hope every little seed in this tired head of mine will grow to be a small part of a greater beauty we can both discover together. Who knows, maybe it'll inspire you to start planting seeds of your own. I'd love that.