The Art of Incurable Unfinishedness
Done? Never. Evolving? Always.
A few months ago, my woodworker-building-contractor hubby, began to quickly build out a room in our downstairs to be my writer studio. Well, initially, to be an additional bedroom when we learned that all our children would be visiting us at the same time, but I digress.
I watched (and helped a little) Hubby hang the drywall—preparing the walls, measuring and cutting the sheet rock, positioning them horizontally, securing them with screws into studs, and addressing seams and corners. A creative problem solver, he suggested using pretty-nice, heavy-duty, canvas drop cloths for the ceiling. Right after we installed the same drop cloths as curtains (hey, it worked) and a ceiling fan, the youngest son announced his change of plans and promised to visit another time. That’s when, in my joyful mind, the intended bedroom became my longed-for studio.
“Don’t finish it,” I posed to Hubby.
“Huh?” The notion was senseless to him. “What do you mean? That’s not what I do.”
“Don’t finish it, please? I like it the way it is.”
He reluctantly gave his temporary stay of completion. A few furnishings later, I moved in. Hubby offers up a deep sigh with a shaking head on the rare occasion he visits the studio.
I do like the room in all its unfinished-ery. More specifically, I like what it shows me every time I sit at my desk.
The black screwheads that proudly dot the grayish-white bare walls, for example, speak to me of the courage to show your true self, including the messy, rough, and unpolished parts. Before the wall sanding. Before the slathering on of nature-inspired hues of Benjamin Moore paint. Before hanging an exquisitely framed piece of Amy Sherald contemporary African American art. Before the designer clothes, statement jewelry, vibrant handbag, professional make-up, stylist doo, or all the other cover ups we often run to. Hubby would say it’s like burl wood. It forms when stress or injury causes a tree to produce irregular growths, like swirls and knots, on its trunk, branches, or root. Though considered imperfections in terms of normal tree maturity, the growths are highly valued for their unique and beautiful patterns. Nature gives us plenty of good reasons to embrace perfect imperfection and let go of the need to hide behind flawlessness.
On my walls are stripes of drywall mud that my dear woodworker eagerly used to cover up screwheads before the work stoppage. Each one is unlike the other, showing me the beauty and lure of being unique, unconventional, and even unpredictable. Just like each person's true self. The diverse streaks encourage me toward creativity and flexibility. They remind me to stay open to new experiences and perspectives as I make the daily choices that continuously shape an environment that resonates with who I truly am.
The concrete floor—oh, that sweet, raw concrete floor—greets me like simple honesty, not trying to be something it's not. Free from pretenses. The foundation upon which true self thrives. Concrete has inherent flaws, like being prone to dust, stains, unevenness, and uncomfortable cold, which remind me that living true self can sometimes be challenging. But it’s also practical, strong, durable, and functional. It doesn’t require limelight and it’s not meant to be a showpiece. If you don’t jackhammer it down with doubt, criticism, negativity, or fear, then it can support longevity of genuine you.
Altogether, my unfinished yet extraordinary studio signifies a focus on the now, appreciating where you are while also envisioning where you want to go.
“Please be patient with me,” first sang Albertina Walker with James Cleveland in 1979, performing live a song written by Sim Wilson, Jr. “God is not through with me yet.” This message is not for the onlookers, analysts, or familial judges, though. It is from the vocalist to the vocalist. From the speaker to the speaker.
Be patient with yourself. You, as the creator of your world through divine authority, guidance, and machinations, are not through with you yet. The true self journey is ongoing and evolutionary—from one stage of you to the next, like my studio and like the rare immortal jellyfish in transdifferentiation, bending the rules to reprogram itself. It's okay to be a work in progress as long as you’re moving forward towards or as you.
Hubby agrees.
True Selfers’ practice this week:
Breathe it out. Identify one specific thing you often perceive as an imperfection, such as a scar, skin texture, tired eyes, gray hair or whatever. Simply notice it without judgment. Sit comfortably and take one deep, centering breath in and out. Take one more deep breath in, imagining you're breathing in acceptance. As you exhale slowly, consciously release the need for perfection of what you noticed and reframe any idea of a flaw to a distinction. Smile gently at yourself if it feels right.
Repeat daily this week’s hymn for embracing the journey: “I am unfinished, not incomplete, and thus unlimited."
Listen to how Illtown Sluggaz proclaims it on Perfectly Imperfect ft. Leah Jenea. Yasssss, girl.
Journey on,
Netta Fei
WOW!!!!! Beautifully said. I'm listening to the song now - LOVE IT! I am always so critical of my weight (my current husband is not). I digressed, at first I was thinking, "girl let your husband finish your room". But then I thought you're right. Just like my weight (BTW a friend comes to my house - unused gym in my basement) and we have committed to working out 3-4 days a week - started last week. My home gym is loving the attention. Ok back to what you were saying, I am a work in progress, just breathe and say, “I am unfinished, not incomplete, and thus unlimited." Love my weekly dose of True Self Society!!!!!
You are the BEST! Right, right no more of that "current" he is my AWESOME HUSBAND!