Writing this blog has been like being given a new set of eyes.  The old set was okay. . . they did what they were supposed to do. They opened, they closed, and they focused on the things in front of them. . . but something was just a little off, a little gray.  With these new eyes everything looks a little more, shall we say, radiant?  You know what it’s like when you open a box of brand spankin’ new crayons?  (I’m talking Crayola because, well, is there any other kind?). Each color is so vibrant, so clear and so brisk.  Or can you envision what it looks like when the sun reflects off of the snow after a week-long snow storm?  It is blinding, but oh so beautiful.  Somehow, as I have used the blank canvas of this blog to peel back the layers of who I am and look at who I want to be, the world looks different. 

I feel different.

Maybe I’ve been holding these thoughts in for too long.  Maybe I’ve never allowed myself to really process them and express them.  I think I’ve spent far too long feeling like my thoughts might be wrong or unaccepted. . . so I stayed silent.  Even as this blog has taken shape I’ve worried that it didn’t look like those of my friends, isn’t clever enough, or that I’m not doing it “right”.  

Letting go of that pressure to do it “right” or “perfect” creates a world that is full of awe.  Full of wonder.  A world where I can see, even if for a moment, that life is right now.  A world where I slow down enough to look, really look, at my kids smile and feel the way it makes my heart flutter.  A world where walls are let down and to live means I can cry with as much passion as I laugh. . . and that is okay.

As I have experienced these new eyes, I am acutely aware of the fact that my old eyes can return at any moment. If I am not intentional, life can so easily be about going through the motions, without seeing the beauty in the motions. 

Today I saw it. . . .  

 

 When Chanelle ran around the bases of a deserted baseball field, playing the victor.

 When Charlie ran his hands through the fine dirt and awed at its softness. 

When Gran stopped by to visit us with Frosty’s in hand.

So, this is my journey.  Learning to see with new eyes and doing my best to leave thoughts of perfection behind.  I’m sure I’ll mess up. . . but nobody’s perfect, right?
 
“The thing that is really hard, and really amazing, is giving up on being perfect and beginning the work of becoming yourself.  -Anne Quindlen