If you know me well, you know that I love pancakes.
This morning I made some blueberry cottage cheese pancakes, which were so delicious.
One bite exploded blueberry juice in my mouth, down my chin, sublime, a joy!
There was some batter left, I thought I’d be at home this afternoon, I kept it to have with tea.
As I was turning the pancakes over, 1 broke, it happens sometimes.
It tasted as good as the others, and got me thinking.
I’ve shared some pieces recently about creativity, and how one of the greatest blocks we have to allowing ourselves is the getting it right, the perfection.
I had the thought that I couldn’t share a picture of broken pancakes.
So much that’s presented on the social platforms, about food, about workshops, about teachers/facilitators, is about beautiful, perfect…
As a brief digression, so much that’s presented about creativity, about being created is coming from AI, it’s so much the same, the same format, the same words.
Allowing ourselves to live, to love, is allowing ourselves to eat the broken pancakes, to relish them, to take the pictures.
To know that next to the broken pancakes is one that didn’t.
Allowing ourselves to live is allowing ourselves to give up this absurd, ridiculous, impossible idea of perfection, in every way.
And to be these beautiful humans we are, who make mistakes, who get it wrong, who fuck-up.
And to be aware, to learn how to repair, how to apologize when we need to, how to present in what is, who we are.
To keep growing, keep learning, keep being more aware of our patterns, keep being more conscious and present of what we’re doing.
And in all of this, in our tears, our embarrassment, our frustration, our anger, our joy, is such possibility.
Of presence, of pleasure, of love, of fun, of intimacy.
So much of spirituality is presented as this ideal, this perfect, with such explanation, justification, defense, avoidance.
Let’s be us, all that we are, with the softness of awareness that allows us to flow in the moment, with open eyes, open hearts…
