don't let things get precious

I've made a list of things I want to feature on the Bossladies blog. It goes on and on and on: women I want to interview, studio tours I want to create, ideas I want to explore, debates I want to create space for.

But instead, for the past month, the Bossladies blog has stayed silent. 

I create excuses for myself--well thought-out excuses that even I can buy. I've been writing all the content for Issue 02 this month, so I don't have time to work on the blog as well.

But, as demonstrated by this here post, I clearly DO have time.

So, as I was laying in bed this morning, scrolling through Insty and trying to figure out why I haven't been working on the Bossladies blog, despite my million ideas for it...I decided it's because I've built it up in my head. 

I have this picture of perfection for the blog--the types of images and illustrations and witty narratives that I want to share. Anything less than that seems inadequate, a failure. So rather than posting something that isn't quite perfection, I don't post anything at all. I stop contributing to the conversation. 

Liz Gilbert talked about this a bit at her workshop last October. She said that every idea writers have is like a purple amethyst butterfly fluttering around above their heads. And in order to take that beautiful idea and actually create it in the world, you have to grab that butterfly, set it on the page, and smash it with a hammer. She said this is one of the hardest parts of being a writer--seeing your perfect ideas smashed to bits again and again and again. 

Because nothing will ever be as beautiful or as perfect in real life as it is in your imagination. And if you require perfection of yourself, you will never actually create. 

So, I suppose, the lesson I'm learning today is that, if you are a creator, you must continue to create. Every day you must put something out into the world. And some days it will be quite horrible. But some days it just may surprise you. 

Either way, you can't let your art (or your business) get so precious that you stop creating. Because silence is no kind of perfection.