Just average at life

Talking to my same friend, I discovered that my personal philosophy is “I’ll get around to it.” Is that lame or what?

I’m a starter, not a finisher. I’m daring and risky enough to start anything, but I rarely get around to finishing. I lose steam on a project, and then move onto the thrill of something new.

New things whisper (or scream) new promises of what might be, but once I can see the shape of what it will be, I’m satisfied that the project is complete in my mind. It’s the same reason I can write my blog, children’s books, and short stories: they’re always new and fresh because they’re too short to need the gumption necessary to end. The beginning and the result need to be close enough together in my writing that I can make that bridge.

I have so many jewelry, sewing, and writing projects I’ve started that linger indefinitely in limbo. My apartment is project purgatory. It’s the same with everything else in my apartment too. I start to clean, start to organize, and I reach a point where I’m reasonably satisfied, so I move on to couch-sitting, sated that I accomplished any little thing.

I read A LOT though, and that’s probably the only thing I finish regularly.

My husband complains that I always want partial credit. Like instead of taking an “incomplete” in my life lessons, I settle for a “C” based on the projects I did hand in that were uncompleted. I think it’s brilliant. Even though I was an anal-retentive grade-hog “A”-or-nothing graduate student, in life, I’ll take what grade I can get.

Remember the geological formations of object around my house? Partial credit. “But I cleaned up that pile, that was something, right?” Partial credit. “But I put the summer clothes I could find in storage, that accomplished a goal, right?” Partial credit.

It drives my husband nutso when he thinks about all the things I never finish, and sometimes he brings it up as a topic of conversation: “You can’t start another knitting project until you finish the one you started 9 months ago.” (See? My projects are like babies--they gestate.)

Fortunately for me--in all spousal related subjects--my husband is a morally flexible guy who’ll tolerate almost all of my shenanigans. He’s great to have around when I’m ready to turn in a C-minus laundry haul.