I’ve been painting rocks. It’s very relaxing. I have the time and I have the river rock. Painted rocks in the garden are very on-trend. You can even buy them on Amazon.
You can buy rocks on Amazon.
I have a good selection of craft supplies to help me in my efforts. They’re not high-end ones save for the brushes my son got me for my birthday. Spending big money is quite unnecessary. One can buy a variety of art and craft supplies at the dollar store.
Of primary importance is the paint. It’s hard to paint rocks without it. The project also calls for glitter, sparkles, and a spray can of sealant.
I’ve done eight rocks so far, even though I’m not crafty. Or rather, I’m not very good at crafty and it frustrates me. Perfection is the name of the game, is it not?
Yet I like painting the rocks, for all that they’re not particularly beautiful.
I’m starting to drift from the party line more often these days. I’m less concerned with perfect results.
I put on some music, pop the despised reading glasses on my nose, and settle in for some brushwork.
I’m not sure my family is fully on-board with my new passion. I take up a fair amount of kitchen space, the whole peninsula, in fact. I feel bad but not bad enough to stop.
I’m allowed to take up space in my own house.
The rocks make me smile when I see them in the garden. Even as I mentally judge my efforts and think about things I could have done differently. Like, take art in high school thirty years ago.
Or not go with the virulent lavender. What was I thinking when I mixed that colour? And the linework certainly isn’t sharp. Why on earth did I think I could draw flowers?
Luckily, perfection isn’t required. The rocks still make me happy and the process is one I enjoy. I have discovered the truth in the truth so many preach: the world is more pleasant if you embrace good enough.
Except in neurosurgery. If someone is poking around my brain, I want them obsessed with perfecting their execution.
You’re allowed to enjoy the things you do even if you’re not the best. Being the best isn’t a requirement.
You don’t have to throw away the rock you inexplicably painted grey. And covered in glitter. That you hate.
We don’t need to be perfect to be deserving of a place in the world.
It’s a popular societal subtext. It’s a good one from an economic perspective. If we believe we need to be perfect, we’ll do whatever it takes. It’s how they get us to buy stuff. To fix the things that don’t need fixing.
I’m doing my best to go about things differently. I’m working on enjoying the process instead of obsessing over the quality of the product I produce. I’m trying not to worry about the results.
Even if everyone thinks my bass clef rock looks like a sad face.