She Messy (or at least she wants to be)

I let go of perfection a few years ago (ship when it hits B-minus, y’all), but a talk with a life coach friend made me realize:
I never let myself be messy.

You know what I mean by messy?

Have you ever met someone who has clearly put zero thought into their words or actions? Someone with NO chill, who doesn’t think before they act, and is completely disorganized. Their work is messy, their appearance is messy, and their home would send Marie Kondo into a tailspin. I’m talking about the type of person you’d call a “wildcard,” or maybe a “free spirit” if you’re being generous.

There are a myriad of reasons why I don’t let myself give in to messiness, even when my brain and body are exhausted.

For one, it’s how I was raised – my mother and father are neat and clean freaks, respectively.

Two, I’m a black woman. Any messiness on my part will be magnified and interpreted as an attribute of my entire race and/or gender instead of my current circumstances.

Three, I don’t love mess. It makes me feel like my brain is scrambled. It’s not visually pleasing. As a highly superficial aesthete, that’s just not gonna fly.

But there’s something to the idea of allowing myself to be messy every once in a while. Giving myself permission to write a freeflowing jumble of thoughts instead of carefully organized bullet points. Letting the day go unplanned, without specific blocks of time for each task. Throwing on whatever’s in the pile of clean clothes without ironing out wrinkles and snipping loose threads. Letting myself RELAX.

So. I hereby give myself permission to have one Messy Mia™ day every month.* On that day, I will not plan ahead. I will not check my calendar every five minutes. I will fly by the seat of my wrinkled pants and not give a damn what anyone else thinks about it.

Maybe you could try it, too? And we’ll be sure to give each other a little grace.

*See how I’m already scheduling my messiness? Habits are hard to break.