Some people grilled burgers and watched fireworks on July 4. I made curtains.
I have nothing against a juicy burger, especially if it's made with my father-in-law's good beef, or a grand display of sky flowers, as I saw them called on another blog today. I just had different priorities for a bonus day.
My internal curtain alarm had been going off for some time now. The time had come to dress that picture window; the inner toddler was quite clear about that.
I always carry a list in the back of my mind and on paper of decorating projects. Occasionally one rises to prominence in this way, like the answer in an eight ball, and I go with it. As long as I have money and supplies, that is.
As it happened, I had printed sheets from WalMart originally bought for our bedroom (Why, yes, over a year ago. How'd you guess?), whose colors actually worked charmingly with the decor downstairs instead. I slapped away fears of regret and just did it.
We're both very happy with them. The sumptuous print contrasts serenely with the rough boards of the walls and harmonizes with my much beloved bench and the poster I've had since college, and the billowy drape softens all the lines and rectangles in the room. The bit of extra length allows them to puddle softly on the floor, adding further muchness. I tried samples of other, more neutral fabrics, which would allow for more variety in table decor, but the unintended sheets were what spoke to me. Gut response trumps practicality. Practicality apparently isn't so much my thing any more.
In my own way, they're a personal declaration of independence. I have cast off (mostly) the judgment and fear and doubt that used to prevent me from doing what I dreamed up. I still bog down momentarily, but then I get bold and plunge ahead. Never mind the what if's and negative possibilities. Who knows what the future holds? Let's have curtains three hours from now!
And that's all it took. Three hours--and a little crawling around on the floor. Hardly sweat shop labor because they're simple. Just hemmed panels hanging from bought clips. If you were able to look closely, you'd see that all the hems don't even match in width. I left some pre-existing ones to save myself some work. I don't know why I told that. You'd have to be looking to even notice. And then you'd deserve what you found. That's my position on dust under beds, too.
Another something done, another idea birthed and swaddled, feels so good! And the joyous doing (I don't count my few cursing moments--the point is I don't let frustration stop me any more) comes from self compassion. When my thoughts constantly chorused my unworthiness, I quite naturally didn't feel like doing much. Why put forth effort when you believe the results will be bad? I have more optimism now. Plus, I've learned that finished really is better than perfect. Perfect exists only in the imagination. Finished hangs on the wall and makes my eyes happy. I'll take that please. With a side order of puddling.