I’ve always been a fan of colouring books – even before the adult ones hit the market. Admittedly, I occasionally had problems with indecision (should I colour that blue or purple?) and disappointment (ugh, I *knew* I should have picked purple) but mostly, I enjoyed myself.
Until my fibromyalgia began.
If you follow this blog, you know my troubles started with my hands – to the point that my doctors first assumed I had carpal tunnel. My fingers ached, I spontaneously dropped things (including hot cups of tea), and holding a pencil took way too much concentration.
Even on days when the pain wasn’t bad, I still didn’t have the dexterity I used to. On the rare occasions I would sit and try to colour, my pencil crayons (colored pencils to those outside Canada) just wouldn’t stay inside the lines.
So I stopped.
After all, what was the point of messing up perfectly good colouring pages? It was worse than picking the wrong colours.
Since I’ve been
trapped staying safe at home, I’ve needed something to do that doesn’t require concentration (my brain is still refusing to work on writing), that will occupy my hands while I listen to audiobooks.
I’ve done a few crafts (you can check out my Instagram to see what I’ve been up to), but I needed something else. So, I started colouring again.
It’s taken an effort to make my perfectionist brain ignore the mistakes, and just enjoy the process, but I’m getting there.
And I’m realizing that this quest for perfection is one of the problems I have with drafting as well. It’s so hard to get the words out when I know they’re not exactly right. And yet, as the saying goes: you can’t edit a blank page.
So, like with colouring, I need to embrace the imperfection of my first draft. Just enjoy the process of putting words on paper. And worry later about making sure those words are right. Because, unlike with colouring, bad writing can always be fixed.