Driven by Im-Perfect-ion

Imperfection. Perhaps because I'm a writing major, that word has always amused me. Mostly because you can't spell it without the letters spelling "Imperfection" leading the way.

Bout sums it up (source)

Maybe this emphasizes the failure (to reach perfection) behind its definition. Or maybe it's a more personal truth: that behind every confession of imperfection is that hidden desire to be able to say, "I'm perfect."  

As I'm writing this, my brain is a bit foggy. Limbs are heavy. Maybe I kissed my boyfriend (small pecks after a week apart) a few times too many after his gluten-filled Subway lunch. Or maybe I'm just tired after a busy day with friends, waking around Balboa Park and climbing up and down four flights of stairs to visit friends living at my college for summer. 

Featuring some unintentionally matching footwear...

After sleeping for nearly 12 hours, I want to wake up alert. Strong. Ready to kick butt, take names and make the most of every summer day. But that doesn't always happen, especially when the question "To be glutened or not to be?" enters the arena. And while I don't always like it, it's still okay. 

As I'm writing this, Instagram notifications keep popping up on my phone. Another like, another comment on this morning's breakfast. My usual smoothie bowl, decked out in homemade green granola, fresh berries, sunbutter, and a coconut oil/PB2 magic shell. People often ask how long it takes me to make my nana ice cream breakfasts, and I guesstimate half an hour, but don't carefully keep track. Because it makes me happy to feed my eyes and my stomach. And to show that gluten free doesn't have to mean boring. 

One spoonful for me, one spoonful on the smoothie...

But I wonder what people would say if they saw me devouring it post-picture, adding triple the toppings. If I admitted I lick every delicious spoonful clean, even when my full stomach and the popular intuitive eating advice cautions me to stop. Some would admonish me, for "emotional eating" perhaps. Others would say I need to eat like that more often, that I'm too skinny. In all likelihood, someone wouldn't be satisfied. Because that's how we imperfect humans are. And that's okay. 

As I'm writing this, I'm still wondering if this is what I've been wanting to say. While posts dripped from my fingers to my keyboard to my blog relatively easily during the school year, as my academic brain shut off for summer, my creativity has nearly followed suit.

Nap time anyone?

I share tidbits of my summer, recipes still hot from the oven, but I wonder if these show enough of Casey the College Celiac. Enough of the celiac awareness education and college tips and vulnerability and all of the other writing traits I have been known best for. 

I don't want to post anything I don't believe in. In fact, the pieces that touched the most people were the ones where pressing "publish" pushed my heart into excited and terrified overdrive. But I don't want to tear off skin - share stories - that aren't ready to peel either. I don't have a blogging schedule or content plan for the month. I won't make every self imposed Monday-Wednesday-Friday deadline. But that's okay too. 

A few weeks ago, I read a post by Healthy Maven focusing on monetizing a mess. When every picture of a food recipe has to be perfect enough to incite drool and culinary action in the reader, how can a blogger really be honest about the struggles or faults behind the camera? 

Or just being a hot mess...

I suppose I'm posing similar questions. How does a type A personality chase perfection, but happily settle for less? Style food posts for "likes" without lying about the food at the same time? Blog on a schedule but also by heart? What I'm realizing is that there really is no perfect answer to these questions.

And, like every imperfection I'm typing through today, that's okay. 

Because, while imperfection may linguistically imply an opposite goal, the two can coexist peacefully. I can chase the winning declaration "I'm" - this post, this meal, this day is - "perfect" while realizing that "ion" is in fact a more accurate description of life. Because an ion is an atom that missed being perfectly balanced in positive and negatives. But that's what gives it a charge. 

Crazy Casey imperfection

And if imperfection follows a similar pattern, maybe it is what drives everything. My daily activities, my happiness and crazy pieces of writing like this. 

Maybe this foggy brain ain't so bad after all. 

*Also found at RunningwithSpoon's link party!*

No questions. Just a request for comments or thoughts!