Perfectionism Is a Scam But Ghibli Stills Are Not

I've been thinking too hard about this whole blogging thing. 

The irony is that I'm working very hard at not being a perfectionist. As it turns out, being perfect at not being perfect defeats the purpose and the results are the same anyway; made out of frustration, anxiety, and probably an unhealthy amount of caffeine. 

*takes sip of coffee I made with three shots of espresso*

*no seriously this is me cutting down on caffeine*

*8 shots down to 5 a day,,,,,,,,,*

I nearly sprinted over here to write this after coming across a blog that had anywhere between 600-1001 posts a year, with high school-level graphic design text layouts, and some of the most profound writing I've read about film. I arrived at this blog because I was hunting for some decent stills of Ghibli films, specifically My Neighbor Totoro landscapes (iykyk), for drawing and color study. My son has been loving the Ghibli films, so lately I've been taking deep dives into film essays, art studies, and Japanese film making. Some of the best, and worst, takes I've seen on Ghibli films were from blog posts; normal people with the shared love of whimsy and childlike wonder. And this blog post was no different, except it struck me in a new way that I didn't expect, and honestly has very little to do with Ghibli. 

Upon first glance, it would seem that the author's strong suit is not in graphic design. If I stopped at this truly innocuous imperfection, I would have absolutely missed out on his thoughtful dissection of a household favorite Ghibli film. The funny thing (or perhaps profound or utterly normal thing) is, I didn't even notice the design faux pas until I started really looking over the author's blog as a whole. That's when I came over here to write — why am I stressing over the tiling of my background to the point of anxiety? Making sure my colors blended right in my header? Is this the right shade of blue? I spent too much time copy/pasting hex codes so my header didn't look out of place with the rest of my blog layout.

Granted, I'm an artist, legibility is important, and perfectionism is a beast. I've written about it frequently and I probably will never stop writing about it because of its chronic nature. I find great joy in designing an appealing, and readable, blog, however the problem lies in becoming afraid to write or post anything because perfectionism is holding me back. I can't fail if I don't try in the first place. But that begs the question; what is the standard anyway? (Spoiler: there is none.)

If someone can have high school level graphic design skills, but write between 600 and 1001 quality posts a year since 2007, I think I'll be okay. Not that my writing skills are better, or to compare artistic skill (though admittedly, as an artist it's difficult to not critique), but rather, I can write imperfect posts on my imperfect layouts about my imperfect thoughts and people will still read what I write. If they don't get it, they don't get it, but there is an audience for what I write. 

So, here I am, not thinking too hard about this blogging thing, sharing my favorite stills to study the landscapes and color grading of My Neighbor Totoro, because that's what's been occupying my brain lately. These will end up in my imperfect sketchbook, and will be imperfectly reproduced for me to imperfectly hang in my apartment, next to my other imperfect artwork for my imperfect enjoyment. 

*how many times can I say imperfect in one sentence?*

I will say though, these stills are anything but imperfect. I can't get enough of them. 

~ for those of you who didn't know, now you do. ^

all images are from My Neighbor Totoro, directed by Hayao Miyazaki, 1988

Resentment, Fermentation, and Three Important Questions

It’s winter. And for a lot of the U.S at the moment, it's a violently cold winter. Even Florida got snow. 

As much as I dislike my PNW apartment consistently sitting at 62 degrees indoors, I've lived enough seasons to appreciate the necessity of winter. Without a season of dormancy and quiet growth, we would not be prepared for the violence and rebirth in spring. So, in the spirit of abiding by the natural seasons, I challenged myself this January to not change anything about myself. At least, not yet. I've made the mistake of jumping right into my new year goals without taking inventory of my life first. Understanding what works, what doesn’t, and what I enjoy, better informs me of what changes need to be made in the first place. Otherwise, like in years past, I end up adapting the goals of others to my life, and quickly burn out. I don't want to waste time doing things that don't ultimately serve personal growth. 

I think the idea of new year resolutions has become so goal-focused that we lose sight of enjoying life. We make it about accomplishment instead of enjoying the journey, and there’s a lot of evidence that shows we don’t really know what “enjoying the journey” means.

Learning is exciting. Authentic growth doesn’t just “happen" because growth takes energy, and to have energy means you need to know what fuel is best for you. But it can’t stop there because fuel doesn’t do us any good if we don’t make time to fuel up. A car does not fuel up by simply parking at a gas station — it isn't a waste of time to fuel a car, so why does culture resent taking the time to rest? To resent taking breaks is to resent a part of our humanity. You cannot hate yourself into wholeness, even if you only hate a part of yourself. Being human is something you will be for the rest of your life. Even after death, once your flesh wastes away, the bones that remain are still human. Don’t waste your life resenting rest, and don’t waste time resenting the need for rest. To authentically grow is to not force something to fit into the season you’re currently in — the wise do not wear a thick sweater in the heat of summer. 

Look to the trees. Look up to the stars and into the heavens. Notice as the air grows cold and trees lose their leaves, there is quiet growth in the soil. And the beauty of winter is that, while natural warmth is scarce, it’s a time to create your own warmth. Wrap yourself in your favorite sweater as you pull a blanket over your lap, curling up with a loved one and a cup of tea, which seems to be just as much company as it is a delicious drink. 

I don’t count this as blind optimism, nor is this joy naïve. It’s naïve to think that rest is unproductive, to scorn the weather for not being warm, for the trees to be bare. Every season has a purpose. An eternal summer is to miss out on the rains of spring that bring summer fruit. It is to miss out on the dormancy of winter, where roots grow deeper and energy is stored to bring forth the blooms of spring. It is to miss out on the shedding of dead weight in autumn, in all its fiery glory, to prepare for winter’s storage. The low pressure timelessness of living inspired by the natural seasons makes for a life of clarity, patience, and nutrient dense fruit. 

Everyday since January first, I asked myself three questions, courtesy of Struthless’ video on journaling (go to 1:34 for the questions, but I highly recommend watching the whole thing.)

What drained me of energy?

What excited me?

What did I learn?

After looking over each journal entry, I found very obvious trends. The challenge for me was to patiently wait for the end of the month to start making drastic changes, per the boundaries I set up for this challenge. Without this boundary, I would have thrown myself headfirst into the rabbit hole of self-help and optimization, with journal prompts about longevity, no-waste swaps for my kitchen, and books on food preservation, theology, and sewing my own clothes. Not to say I didn’t completely follow this boundary I made for myself, just ask the second batch of sauerkraut I’m currently making and the new book I ordered about being an emotional healthy Christian. (I have ADHD and I'm unmedicated, leave me alone. 🫶)

It's important to note that I didn't just live in what drained me during this time of mental unpacking. While taking inventory, the challenge was to make no changes so I could accurately see what habits I have established, both good and bad. I have a consistent journaling habit in place already, which is where most of the draining things were placed and processed. Fortunately for me, much of it could be processed with my currently established habits. As for the other things that couldn't be processed this way, I admit that I didn't have a solid plan set up for this prior to the challenge. I did end up developing an unintentional list of habits I wanted to change or add after January is over, but the list was not formally planned, therefore I didn't have structure for it.

Which is likely why I purchased a book and have a kitchen counter peppered with jars of fermenting veggies. 🤠

But that's the nature of experimentation. I'm still very happy with the data I've collected, now having a better understanding of myself — including what I'm prone to do if I don't account for my rabbit-trail tendencies. Any data is good data.

As the first month of 2025 comes to a close, even with boundary-rebellion in the form of kitchen projects and a growing reference library, I look forward to the journey ahead. Embracing my bold side with more color and less fear, leaving my introverted bubble (aka my apartment lol), and finally learning to make a proper loaf of sourdough, after many comedically miserable attempts. 2025 will be a year of red lipstick and a well-used dutch oven — contentedness and unabashed self-expression. In leaps, or baby steps.

And I'm so excited to be writing again. ✨

~ learning to ferment veggies has been one of the best ADHD hacks of my entire life.