This week, I completed a renovation project, started another reno project, bagged a new client, and am joining a bazaar for the weekend. (Not to mention that the little Hawaiian restaurant we opened some months ago will begin lunch operations this Saturday!)
I feel tired, to say the least—a fulfilled kind of tired. But more than that, I feel terrified.
I would love to be one of those people who deeply and sincerely feel #blessed. Gratitude, unfortunately, is not automatic to me. For some strange reason, I often feel as if I don’t deserve these blessings, that I cannot ever rest on my laurels, because one little f*ckup will blow everything away.
I’m a staunch believer in Murphy’s Law: Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. I’m guessing it has a lot to do with the career choices I’ve made so far—events marketing, publishing, project management, and now, interior design. It helps me be always on my toes. It forces me to stay on top of things—even though I don’t always succeed.
On the downside, I never feel like I’ve done well. I always think, “I could’ve done better.” I remember at our wedding six years ago, my husband wouldn’t stop crowing about how he thought our wedding was the best wedding he’d ever been to (of course). I, on the other hand, couldn’t stop fretting over the minor mishaps behind-the-scenes: They forgot to pick me up from the bridal car! One of the groomsmen was wearing a black shirt! They interchanged the offertory and sponsors candles! They opened the buffet table a little too late! I should’ve added three more dishes to the menu!
My husband just looked at me like I was crazy and said, “Are you kidding? Everything was perfect.” (*cue wife melt*)
When I get too stressed out over the littlest details, I often think back to that moment and realize that when it’s all done, it’s done. I did my best. I made mistakes, and I must learn from them so I can try again next time.
I guess this is me saying that with each and every project I do—whether it’s a web article, a think-piece, an event, a styling gig, a music album, or a renovation—I always find myself pouring so much of my heart into it, that it often leaves me scarred. I beat myself up too much over the should-haves. The only way I can recover is by forcing myself to let go. Elsa couldn’t have said it better. Rise like the break of dawn. That perfect girl is gone. Hardly poetry, but still, truth.
So what is my point? Nothing, just brain fart.
Not forgetting the pictures.