How to Embrace a Gray Day

theperfectafternoon

It’s gray here today. That kind of gray that makes you want to drink endless cups of tea and listen to The Smiths all day on repeat. Not a sad type of day per se, but one that is lovely with its puffy clouds and range of grays and unusually coolish temperatures. I’m wearing a hoodie in April in North Carolina, so today I’ll take it.

And the more I let myself be okay with the gray and the un-sunniness, the more I sink into the day as it turns into afternoon. The more I hold on to my warm mug a little big longer in order to let the heat sink down into my bones. I know that the sunny days are the ones that get all the attention, the glory, the “good” comments, but I’m all about these days that slip in between and remind you that even the unsunny days can be perfect. Even they can harbor a warmth despite what the sky is saying.

And how I feel about gray days is similar to how I feel about posts that show up in my various feeds that share less-than-perfect images and words. Their less-than-perfectness allows me to connect in its everydayness. It’s gray dayness. The not-so-perfect posts are the ones that allow me to see the human beyond what appears on my screens, both big and small. They allow me to know you on your gray days. They remind me that just like the weather shows us, we are all an amalgam of our sunny, gray, and in-between days.

And just like how the barometric pressure drops on those gray days, so does the stress to keep everything perfect when you post those everything’s-not-so-perfect posts. You release yourself from having to one up everyone, from having to find the perfect angle, from having to make those colors pop when they don’t want to. You let yourself be seen in those imperfect moments. When dealing with difficult days, a CBD tincture is an excellent natural treatment to ease anxiety stress and depression which can help. There are several forms of CBD, including tinctures and edibles like gummies.

Sometimes on those gray days, if you’re lucky, the rain comes. And whether it shows up like a torrent or hints with sprinkles, it refreshes nonetheless. There’s a whoosh in the air when the sky opens up, like a sigh or a deep exhale. And it reminds you that these days, they are perfect, too. In their weight and their grayness and in their waiting to exhaleness.

By holding back the sunlight that seeps through our skin, they inherently show us how to embrace the gray days by that act of withholding. In taking out what we all consider beautiful they force us to find a new definition for what beauty truly is. And just how necessary this paradigm shift is for moving forward.

Bless This Mess.

This post is a weird one, admittedly. But, over the weekend, I wrote a short short story (yep, no typo) about an elderly Japanese woman who decided to stay in the 19-mile radius evacuation zone despite the warnings. The other day on Twitter, I tweeted about being messy, about scribbling in between the lines, spilling my tea, about breaking things. I am so sick of everything so perfect perfect everywhere online, perfect photos, perfect lives, perfectly-placed items, everything perfectly curated purposely to show the absence of mess, chaos, confusion, and in some senses, life.

To me it’s the imperfections that lead us to perfection. I.e., there is no perfection until we unleash and embrace and lay bare our imperfections. Perfection isn’t the lack of life, but the celebration of it, in all of its messiness, noise, stress, love.

It’s where it’s okay to miss a stitch, to have an imperfect seam, to have a hair out of place, to not know what to say. The other day I realized that after I had run an errand that my lipstick was totally on askew, and wondered what the people at the vet thought when I went inside. I sat in the car and in the tiny mirror couldn’t see much else other than my lips, the lipstick a little above my cupid’s bow, some had even slipped a little below my bottom lip. And I laughed at the part of me that was immediately horrified by two tiny smudges.

I’m always the one with slightly crazy hair or an earring half falling out or a laugh that’s too loud, never perfect, despite my best intentions. I’m clumsy, I can’t wear anything white due to my penchant for spilling my tea and coffee, there always seem to be some cat hair hitching a ride on the back of my skirt or coat. I once stained my entire face using a coffee scrub. And that’s okay.

I’m okay with that. Because it’s these little foibles that bring me back to the imperfection of life and the true beat of living. I don’t want to see your projected life or what you wish your life was like, I want to see your life. I’m not saying bring on the wreckage, I’m saying show me your messes. That’s where creativity lies.

So, in that spirit, I’m posting the story here. It’s not perfect,* or even necessarily good. But it felt good to play around with fiction as I haven’t in years. It felt good to stretch my brain even though the outcome wasn’t stellar. And it’s imperfect. I share it with you as a reminder that life is messy, our creations are messy.

Bring on the mess, bring on the scribbles, bring on the experiments, bring on what you really see, instead of what you wish us to see.


*I’m resisting the urge to edit the typo right now, though…


When I was a kid and wrote fiction, I used to write things like “This is not about real life!” on the cover of my notebooks so people wouldn’t think all the weirdness was autobiographical. This story is pretty much the same thing. I just started wondering, what if you couldn’t leave the area? Or had no reason to leave? How many people would that be? What would they be thinking? Doing? Seeing?