I had a perfect plan for my morning today. I had decided to create a litte artist hut outside—a place for me to write in my garden—surrounded by the Glory of God.–and as soon as I arose, I marched out into my garden and began my effort to create a perfect spot. But I quickly watched my perfect plan fall apart.

I had begun my morning with perfection in mind. I made my morning coffee in my special Mississippi Mug,[Perfect Plans need Perfect Props].

Then, I needed to move my patio table into place, and that’s where I met my first snag. My patio table was in another spot outside, and it was soaked with dew. A flash darted through my brain:— the thought about how I often sing about coming to my garden alone, “…while the dew is still on the roses…” And almost like the song “May the Bird of Paradise Fly up your Nose,” I was seeing that morning dew in a new light.

But I wasn’t giving up yet. I marched back inside, found a towel, and dried everything as well as I could, and began dragging my table and chair across my yard.

After that, I brought my Macbook outside and positioned my mouse just right.

My normal daily routine begins with my morning garden tour, wherein I video whatever strikes my fancy and talk. Well, today, my computer was in the garden with me [something told me not to mix tecnology and Mother Nature], and a few seconds into making my video, Siri on my computer began to pipe in, “I’m sorry. I didn’t get that.” “Would you repeat?” “I’m having difficulty unerstanding.”

I felt like throwing Siri against my brick wall. Siri had ruined my first garden video. My perfect plan was off to a bad start.

But I’m a survivor. I gave up on that video, but I wasn’t ready to give up on my intention to write in my little outside garden hut I had created. I sat down to write — and here they came — the flies! Flies! Nuisances!

[Fodder for another day—How to Deal with Nuisnces.]

Still determined, I marched into my back porch to look for a can of bug spray, but my porch is such a cluttered mess that I couldn’t find the repellant, and I returned to my “perfect” outside writing hut to try it again.

Hands working like a propellor—swatting flies every other second—I sat in my patio chair and tried to write again. Seconds into that effort, the iron chair began biting into my rear, and after I could not find a chair cushion inside, I grabbed my computer and returned to my Perfect Writing Hut—inside.

And I wrote, “Don’t Let the Perect Be the Enemy of the Good.”

Let’s Allow Ourselves to be Imperfect. Perfectionism is the Enemy of Creativity