happy easter!

imperfect

I hate not doing things right. It's a real problem. It keeps me from doing things I don't do perfectly, which is a lot of things.

I've been venturing out into some new things lately, many that turned out to be things I didn't do so well. I guess naturally that brings you to a place of seeing a lot more of your own weaknesses than you do when you're gliding along in the places and activities you're familiar with. It can be kind of shocking if you haven't roamed from your comfortable habits in a while.

(Reminder to myself: make sure to regularly roam out of your comfortable habits.)

When the new rollergirls I coach get frustrated with falling down, I tell them how encouraged I am to see them on the floor. If you aren't falling, you aren't learning, I say. Why is it so much harder to say that to myself?

I am imperfect.

Somehow today I'm going to make myself love the sound of that phrase.

digitus impudicus bionicus

It's been 6 years since my finger epic that was documented all over this blog, and I still haven't lost my fascination for finger traumas, nor the nausea that comes with thinking about it. And finger injury stories mostly seem to be about that poor dominant middle finger, digitus impudicus, the one that is most in peril of all the fingers. (There's even a club: the IFPWMF, or, International Foundation for People Without Middle Fingers.) Now comes along this guy. He made a new one for himself. Out of bike parts. It looks a little like the one Holly Hunter had at the end of The Piano. But it is articulated. He is a hero.

I'm very very grateful for every funky bit of my freaky frankenfinger.



 

Happy P-Day!

The third marching fellow of the year:

And because I just realized I didn't post the second: