Process over perfection

You know those gatherings when there is some sort of magic in the air? Everyone is curious and accepting, the jokes land, and there is much thigh-slapping laughter. I had that last night with a group of friends, some formed in the kids pre-school days, and some created in the studio.

It was so much fun, and I am still smiling as I type this 12 hours later. Among us, we have a budding SCUBA diver, a medal-winning body builder, 2 entrepreneurs (a coffee van and lifestyle brand), a journalist who may be retired but still has her finger firmly on the pulse, and a new uni student. We are all over 50; many of these ventures are brand new.

I'm the new uni student. When I finished high school in the late 80s (after a traumatic breakup that destroyed my year 12 results), I worked and travelled instead of studying. I was, and still am, an excellent organiser, planner and manager of many moving parts, skills that I have used in different roles over the years. I have studied in different formats, but always felt the weight of those results as a sense of lack, of not-good-enough-ness.

My cathartic Camino last year worked its magic, and I unpacked that particular belief and left it behind. I came home and sat the uni entrance exam and it was awful but I did well. I applied and was accepted into the uni down the road. Hallelujah!

You know that feeling when you buy tickets to an event months in advance, and look forward to it and plan your outfit and where to go for afters and have your hair blow-dried and buy a new lipstick and that sparkly bag and maybe even some dangly earrings, and half way through your feet are sore and the chicken is dry and you go to the bathroom to unpeel the Spanx that you swore you would never ever wear again, and go to bed with a head full of bobby pins and wake up with false eyelashes littering your pillow? You know what I mean.

I'm not saying that my admittedly extremely brief experience of uni is ... underwhelming, but maybe I also am?? Maybe I built this thing up over 38 (gawd) years, and it turns out to not be a big deal. The monkey felt so real, sitting there on my back, chattering away and being an unhelpful narrator of my life.

I am learning, I am exploring, I am diving deeper. Of course, at 54 I am having a very different experience to a school leaver. Whether or not I am in it for the long haul remains to be seen; there are many study options. The discomfort of being in that new environment has reminded me of what I already knew to be true - that the studio is my happy place. YOU are my people. I have most definitely stacked the deck in my favour and attracted people who feel like friends rather than clients. I love your stories and adventures and bravery and tears. I love crying with you, laughing with you, figuring stuff out together. I love our weird conversations, the openness and acceptance. It's pretty special.

You're pretty special.

Stuck on my bathroom door is a postcard that says 'Being again, and again, and again'. That is life. We move on from relationships, careers, friendships, beliefs. Our bodies change, we adjust. We pivot. Sometimes we pause, figure out where we are, where we have been, and if it's time to take a new path.

The outcome is often out of our control, but we still start. To SCUBA dive you first have to get in the pool, figure out how to overcome nature and breathe underwater. To win a body building comp you have to lift very heavy things for a very long time. To grow a brand takes time and experimentation. Process over perfection.

I generally have a tidy wrap up, but this time I don't, and that feels fitting. Because life isn't about clean edges, all the crazy bits tucked away. It is messy and frayed and sometimes a wreck but often beautiful. Filled with moments of grace and joy that carry us, buoyed by laughter and acceptance, along the winding road that unfurls one imperfect step at a time.

Much love

❤️

Amanda xx