Perfection is so not a thing.

I realized this morning why I’ve struggled with writing a blog in the past.  There are literally too many thoughts in my brain.  Just as I decide that I have the “perfect” post, I come up with another, or ten other, ideas.

I decided to follow some advice I was given in my non-profit arena last week.  Just start.  Seriously, just start.

So let’s start with this idea of perfection.  It’s not a thing.  It’s really not.  And we really just all need to stop pretending it is.  Life is messy almost all of the time.  And when it’s not, we need to just sit back and enjoy it for a minute because the messy reality is just around the corner.  Our kids aren’t perfect.  Our marriages aren’t perfect.  We certainly aren’t perfect.  Yes, I’m lumping us all together. I mean we’re really all in this imperfect mess together, aren’t we?  When I sit back and look at my life from afar, though, I find that it’s the messy moments I love the most.  It’s the tragically bad homemade pasta that I made with my 9-year-old last night.  It’s the time my 12-year-old and I were carrying a bed into the house, dropped it and broke it into pieces and then laughed until we cried in the front yard.  I have four boys, the list of similar moments is very… very… long.

This was the first full week of school for my younger two boys.  Of course, my expectation was that I would be incredibly productive and probably change the world this week.  Surprisingly, that didn’t actually happen.  I did have some productive moments.  Cleaned my house, which felt a little like I changed the world.  And worked toward some ideas that will be great very soon.  That’s about it.  Not very exciting.  Definitely not very “perfect”.

The good news is that I am trending back toward busy. Controlled busy. Pushing my non-profit along. Working my new marketing plan. Joining a very busy fundraising committee at school. Things are moving, messily, chaotically, along.

(And a quick note to the lady at the DMV who threw a fit at the DMV this morning. There’s a line. There’s always a line. And it’s almost always painfully long. If you get out of that place in under two hours you’ve had a successful trip. There’s really no need to be rude to the poor girl at the counter who probably sits behind that looking at the incredibly long line and likely feels like her day may never end. Take a couple deep breaths, bring a book. Relax.)

Happy Imperfect Chaos, friends!

 

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