Invitation to Change

I got a little crafty last Sunday night. It was for an important cause—invitations to my sister’s family baby shower. Because I’m thousands of miles away from her on this little island in the pacific, I wanted to have some part in planning the shower even if I wasn’t actually going to attend. So I pulled out all my corner rounders, my circle cutters, my paper slicers. I uncapped my acid-free glue sticks. I sifted through my fancy paper.

I spent the next 4 hours making 10 invitations.

We’re going with a bird theme. Remember my birds I love so much? My sister likes them too. My mom bought some scrapbooking paper that is covered with bird houses and wide-eyed, chubby birds. Something got it in my head that it would be a good idea to model the invitations after this paper. Without actually having the paper in front of me.

No matter. Ideas started to trickle down the creative reservoir and spilled out my agile fingers. I began cutting out molds and shaping the birds from nothingness. I carefully chose my color schemes. Glued piece after piece together. Measured here. Cut there. I added simple details to add to the charm. And when I was finished, I put them aside to dry, proud of what I had done with so little time to spare.

So naturally, I wasn’t prepared for what I found on Tuesday morning. My carefully planned invitations, the ones I had so painstakingly crafted we missing. Somebody had taken my sophisticated creation and left me with something akin to a 6th grade craft activity at summer camp.

I guess I was so absorbed in the process, I didn’t even realize that the fat little birds I was cutting out were a tiny bit lopsided—or that their feathers looked more like fish scales. I should have known when I had to say more than once, “It’s a bird house. That’s the peg the birds sit on in front of the door.” I had tried to dress them up a little by printing out the shower details on nice paper, but the texture caused the ink to look cheap. And the glue? Dark smudges. Visible clumps. Curled paper.

A little part somewhere in my perfectionist brain died that day. What happened? What happened to my perfect invitations? Who took my careful handiwork and replaced it with amateur hour?

Worse yet? There was no time to fix them. The baby shower is in less than two weeks. If I didn’t get them out early this week, they wouldn’t make it to the guests in time. I struggled. I really wrestled with myself. Do I send them? Do I redo them? Do I go to Walmart and pick up generic invitations instead? What do I do? What can be done?

I paused while putting each invitation into its envelope. Debated on what I could do to make it better. Addressed them all and then threw them aside. Picked them back up and put stamps. Reopened one of them to look at it again. Sealed it back up. Reopened it again to show to a coworker. “Is this stupid?” I asked. Showed her the paper. Got confirmation they weren’t as bad as I thought. Decided to send them. Walked to the mail drop. Stopped 10 feet away. Returned to the office. Called my mother for advice. Called my sister to apologize for not being better at arts and crafts. Showed another coworker. Then I dropped them in the mailbox. And immediately second guessed myself.

But the point is, I sent them. After all that, I still sent them. On any other day, at any other time in my life, I would have trashed the invitations and started over. But something in my brain is starting to click. Somewhere between the boundaries of my rules and obsessions, a tiny seed of “wild” is growing. Things are getting a little unruly. And I wanted you to know.

I’m changing.