When I look around, I can easily get spun into a “perfectionist rut”, I start nit-picking. Things aren’t picked up enough. I see every single spot of dirt on the floor. I see the mounds of laundry that await me. I see the dishes that seem to grow friends over night! (Seriously? I just did the dishes!) Where are those couch pillows? Why aren’t the matching ones on this couch? Minivan?! Ugh. I can’t drive a minivan. Someone is coming over? Oh crap! Run around like a chicken with my head cut off, crazily grabbing stuff off the floor and the counters and shove them out of site. Why the apology the minute someone comes over? “I’m sorry, my place is such a disaster right now!” God forbid someone see that people actually live in this space! What if someone notices that I have gained weight? (Hello?! They have eyes!) What if people discover the real deal? What if someone figures out that I’m not perfect?
Even the idea of posting this is making me a little nervous. Do I want to be judged? Do I want to invite criticism? Not really, but letting go of perfect doesn’t exist inside of comfortable. It’s daily choosing to let go of the unimportant.
It was baptism day and so what if my son’s hair wasn’t freshly cut? He was too tired and he was cranky and needed rest more than a perfect haircut for a photo op.
The house needed to be cleaned for our upcoming move. Like, really deep cleaned. Scoured. But she’s asking to play another game of slap jack.
The clothes needed to be washed, but the Sorry game on the table was far more inviting. “Mom! Come play with us! You can be red!” Who can turn that down?
That kitchen counter. The one that collects the mail, the keys, the wallets and a plethora of other crap that no one ever takes the time to put away. It’s the first thing I see when I walk through the front door. I cringe whenever I see it. Why? Why not see it as having a life? We’ve been having fun instead of staying home and cleaning. That’s a good thing. The stuff, the mundane, it can wait. I’d rather go play and have a life. A life that no longer needs that twenty-ton shield.
I’m getting better. Yes, things need to be done. We all need time to take care of bills, catch up on chores and such. But the “perfect” stuff? That stuff that says “I’m okay” and “please like and accept me”?
That crap has got to go!
What about you? Are you a perfectionist? What are you letting go?