No More Perfect
The summer has been a mix of golden light and shadowy haze. My intention is always to enjoy every moment, every day, and this intention ignores my unconscious desire to micromanage everything, from what we eat to where we go to what my kids discuss (why do they argue over why one of them thinks something?). I make a list every day of what we need to get done, and I almost always get it all done, with lots of time to spare.
The question I have at the end of another summer is how much my lists actually help me to live the way I want to live. My fear is that if I try to live without a list, I won’t remember to do so many things: laundry, picking up, reading my Bible, making dinner. My fear is that I won’t put down my book or get off the couch at all. But my fear is also that there are so many things I may be missing as I hide behind the control of a list.
I’ve started rereading Shauna Niequist’s book Present Over Perfect. It’s a deep and insightful look at living in freedom, about letting go of what you thought life would be, finding the life you wanted, and living the life you have. She says that instead of investing in the futile attempt at making everything perfect, be present to the one wild and joyous life you get to live by embracing your worth and embracing God’s love for you, neither of which can change. This book is one of my favorites, and each time I reread it, it speaks to me on a deeper and different level.
Today, these lines stand out to me: “The ache for perfection keeps us isolated and exhausted--we keep people at arm’s length...these days I’m coming to see that perfect is safe, controlled, managed. I’m finding myself drawn to mess, to darkness, to things that are loved to the point of shabbiness, or just wildly imperfect in their own gorgeous way.”
We got a cat yesterday. I am not an animal person and have never really wanted a pet of my own. But my daughter adores cats, and so we are the new owners of a kitten who is currently exploring our home, tentatively, trying to figure it all out. My son is loud, and the cat is skittish, so she is spending long hours under the couch, emerging to test her limits--trying to slide into the fireplace, or walk across the piano. When she is rebuffed, she flees back under the couch, feelings deeply bruised.
I relate to these emotions, as my own mistakes and tentative reaching out often result in my licking my wounds and feeling awful about myself. I should do more; I should know more. I should make another list and get it right this time. But my worth isn’t tied to any of these things. God loves me just as much whether I am hiding under the couch or boldly strutting around a new living room. He loves me when I try and when I fail. He loves me enough to let me step out in freedom, to love others, and to have my feelings hurt and try again. He just loves me. There is no need to be perfect.
Maybe tomorrow, I won’t make the list in the morning. Maybe I’ll just see what happens. Maybe I’ll find beauty in the mess. Maybe I’ll surprise myself.