Despite my love of Instagram, the Bloggosphere, Pinterest, and the like, my sister-in-law Rachel put up a post today that inspired me to snag this pin from one of my boards on Pinterest to share here.
There is something incredibly freeing about remembering this. I fully admit I'm a very goal-driven person: I set weight loss goals, make lists of things to get done in a given day, have timelines for projects, and when I'm in the mood to practise I'm my own harshest task master when it comes to my music. But think about it: you don't have to be perfect because you can't be perfect! Take it off the table: it's not even an option.
For me, this means I don't have to berate myself for being in bed with Ethan until 10 or even 11 in the morning: that's just the schedule that works for us some days. I don't need to feel bad that I feed him sweets, that I don't make all of my own baby food, that I don't have naturally-dyed, BPA-free, designer glass bottles; none of it. I don't have to worry that his nursery is still housing the old pushchair we have yet to donate to a charity shop, that there are boxes on top of the bookshelves, that I had cookies and a yoghurt for breakfast, or that I habitually leave clothes in the dryer overnight. It's no good comparing yourself with other people, and it's especially no good comparing your sight reading of life with someone else's polished performance. It's not helpful, and worse still it's not healthy.
Sure, there are days where I'm not in a bra until past noon, or when I leave the house having forgotten to put on deodorant or take an extra nappy for Ethan, but I'm doing pretty damn well for myself if I do say so.
If I'm satisfied with my life at the end of the day - even if it's been tiring and frustrating, I can still be satisfied with myself - then that's a good benchmark. Basically, whatever other markers of success there may be, if I can't find something in my day to be happy about, that's the failure that will bother me the longest. Yesterday, I was happy to walk around the old neighbourhood and to watch Ethan play with the steering wheel in the car again. So far today, I'm happy that Ethan ate about 1/3 of my pot of yoghurt with me and that he's playing happily with his toys in his crib. Tomorrow: who knows? But I know there will be something, and that's what counts. Thumbs up for imperfection. Thumbs up for enjoying the little things.
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