On Snowflakes, Cartwheels and Perfection
I was sat in a beer garden on a sunny evening with friends recently, when one of them said ‘I wish I could do a cartwheel right now’. Now, some of us have very good reasons not to do cartwheels. I do not think I have ever attempted a cartwheel without damaging myself or property. This friend however loves a little gymnastic interlude. Quietly, I asked them why.
‘I don’t want it to be wonky and the others to laugh.’
It was at this point that I (and the two glasses of house white swilling within me) gave the advice I had been searching for my entire life:
‘It doesn’t have to be perfect, it just has to be joyful!’.
I’ve been preoccupied with perfection for a little while now. Well, I say a little while, truthfully I mean my entire life. Aged five I barged into the bathroom while my mum was having a bath. You may wonder what precipitated this intrusion into her private space. Was the house on fire? Had I injured myself? No, I had a question.
‘Mum, mum, mum! Can anyone be perfect?’
‘No, Niamh, perfect is something that nobody can ever really be.’
‘Not even the queen????’
‘No, Niamh, not even the queen.’
‘Are you sure???’
‘Yes, Niamh, now can you shut the door on your way out?’
If you excuse the slightly confused monarchism in my statement (I went to a primary school in England in the 2000s we learnt about the royal family a LOT), you can see that the quest for perfection has plagued me for as long as I can remember. I’ve told this story to my friends and we all laugh about it. My five year old self was objectively ridiculous. But also she genuinely really cared. Then she became the seven year old who cried about spelling tests, and the teenager who assumed any less than full marks wasn’t good enough, and the adult who was too scared to do creative projects in case they were less than perfect. But I’ve started to wonder recently, what was I actually chasing?
When I think of perfection, two images come to mind: fresh snow on a January morning, or a beautifully iced cake. Picture your choice of the two, it’s perfect isn’t it? There’s probably a girl perched anxiously on the side of the snowbank worried that if she enjoys it, she’ll ruin the icy vista, or one holding off cutting the cake in case she makes wonky slices. To remain perfect, these things have to remain untouched, uncherished, with no snowball fights or parties or living to ruin them. But even if it is untouched, the snow eventually melts, and an uneaten cake will rot. At which point, you may as well have lived and loved and enjoyed them, right?
So, I told my friend to do the cartwheel. I’ve started doing incredibly wonky and inaccurate drawings, but they bring me so much joy. I’m wearing weirder and more wonderful outfits than I could have ever conceived of. I don’t know what your personal cartwheel is; it might be singing, or baking, or talking to that cool person on the bus. Whatever it is, your life will probably be more joyful if you try. So do the damn cartwheel. I dare you.
Niamh Duncan is an author, theatre maker and knitter living in Norwich, England. Having graduated from the University of East Anglia with a first-class degree in creative writing, she is now engaged in answering life’s big questions, namely how do you pay your rent with a degree in creative writing. In her spare time Niamh loves drinking tea and cocktails (usually not simultaneously) and going for long rambling walks.