The Crusty Stuff
The snow started melting a week or so ago. We had freakishly warm weather, the kind that felt like late April. It smelled like mud and rain and the air felt like the kind that tulips poke out in. And the gazillion (give or take) inches of snow started melting, fast.
And when it melted, it uncovered the ugly parts; dog poop, leaves, a forgotten flower vase, a branch that came down in a wind storm, a wreath that must have flown off the barn. And the whitespace of a winter wonderland gave way to projects and to-dos and peeled back the layers.
And then it all froze.
And when it froze it became this crusty ass brown grey gross weird stuff. And it reminded me that beneath the surface, there's always crusty ass gross stuff.
I had a little business meltdown last week. It's NEVER about flowers, or clients, or creating, or hosting, or dreaming. It is ALWAYS about numbers and laws and taxes and paperwork and 'rules.' I was frustrated that I'm not the best at that stuff, mad that while I can book clients and fill a schedule and create things people love, I cannot for the life of me seem to get to a point with my data organization that is at a level I'm proud of (read: perfect).
We follow the rules and yes pay our taxes and file and have insurance and all that stuff. The bases are covered. But damn I am not the best at it. It always feels SO reactive instead of proactive. It's crusty.
And yes, this is why we have an accountant and a bookkeeper and professionals who love this kind of stuff who help us, but somewhere between when the crust appeared and then the snow fell and covered it again I realized how pissed off it makes me that I'm not really good at every aspect of this business.
But wait. Newsflash: I preach all the time to ladies I mentor to be really freaking good at one thing, and then get help with what you need help with. So where the hell am I to come off mad that I'm not a floral designer who grows lavender and coaches women and throws great parties AND a CPA?
Relinquishing control my friends. Loosening the grip. Admitting our faults and shortcomings. Remembering we are human. Asking for help.
I always push the flight attendant button on an airplane. Matt and my siblings are always mortified. "No!" they whisper yell between gritted teeth. A nice woman comes over and clicks the button, "yes?" "Hi, can I please have a glass of water? I am really warm and uncomfortable and just sorta having a moment" "Of course!" (READ: "Hi, can I please have a glass of water, I am having a hormonal sweating thing because my period just started and I'm gonna lose my freaking mind here and suddenly my dry-mouth might kill me.)
And sure enough, moments later, a cup of water arrives. "Thank you SO MUCH" I whisper and the woman says "of course, I am HAPPY TO HELP."
Happy. To. Help.
People hire me to do their flowers for events that mean a lot to them because I can do them better then they can. I can alleviate a stressor, I can make it more enjoyable. I pay someone to cut my hair, fix our cars, wire a new outlet, train me in Pilates - because they can do it better and it makes all these things more enjoyable.
I'm no longing sweating the crusty stuff I'm bad at. I'm asking for more help. I'm relinquishing more of my white knuckle grip.