I’m pretty much your text book A-Type perfectionist by nature. So it’s taken A LOT of work to try and make my sustainability efforts sustainable (see namesake article on the blog). But even when I look at them all spelled out on paper, a somewhat unhealthy ambition is revealed.
So sometimes, usually on a Sunday, I stand in my kitchen, paralyzed.
Because of my commitments I “can’t” justtake a spare pick ‘n pay plastic packet and collect all the “rubbish”, only to tie a knot and forget it forever more.
I “can’t” justtake all my dirty dishes and shove them, caked on ketchup and all, unceremoniously into the dishwasher, on high, with a the finish equivalent of an atomic bomb.
I “can’t” just wet-wipe the counters for a quick wipe down before a pop-in guest arrives.
And it’s paralyzing.
I want my house to be clean and I want it clean NOW. There’s no immediate gratification in:
Separating the bio waste and composting it.
Soaking every dish in filthy, cold water.
Slow roasting bicarb for laundry powder.
Wiping counters with an old cut-cloth soaked in warm water and essential oil.
Etc etc etc.
The efforts I’ve taken on, in order to do my small part to preserve this magical planet we’ve been gifted by its Creator, are, of course, all voluntary. No one told me to do this. I love it and I feel passionate about it and I believe in it, on many levels. But that doesn’t make it easy. In fact I think by definition anything that’s worth doing in life will be hard. So sometimes I struggle.
Also, corporates. If just one corporate office park in Rosebank, for example, would turn off the damn lights at night, I wouldn’t need to do my tiny, tiny, TINY part.
I think people see me in a certain light. Both consciously and unwittingly an image of ‘Simone Penn’ has been constructed in the proverbial “out there”. Sometimes this is a good thing, of course. But sometimes it scares me a lot because I fear I’m not living up to the standards I, myself, have constructed.
So this is my confession. I enjoy living sustainability but I do find it hard. The perfectionist isn’t perfect.
And that’s ok.
