It is so fucking quiet in my house this evening. There are no squeaks of a clarinet being practiced or YouTube videos blaring from upstairs. I’m not used to the sounds of our new home breathing in and out yet. Even the dogs are slightly on edge with the creeks of the wind and the banging of branches outside.
My typical noisemakers (my family) are scattered across two continents this week. I’ve got one in the USA on business, and two at school camp — the eldest in France and the little one in the french-speaking part of Switzerland. I’m home all alone with the fur babies this week… and as much as this sounds like heaven (which it is)… I am kind of feeling lost.
I am so used to trying to harness our crazy lives. Shuttling to and from school, picking up the pooches from doggie daycare, scurrying home to grab a bite to eat before horseback riding, making sure there is food in the fridge and wine in the cellar (so we don’t starve or go insane on Sunday), and trying to squeeze in a shower occasionally too. The list of tedious and mundane things I do daily could go on forever.
And, for the past couple of days, I haven’t had a schedule. I had gone to the store and not worried about when I needed to return home. I ate tortilla chips and wine for dinner (true story – totally happened), and no one complained. I slipped into my pajamas at 3PM and surfed the internet for hours without having to cook, clean, or give instructions to another human being.
It is so lovely to occasionally be carefree. To let the weight of the world slip to the wayside, and only do what you desire.
But, here’s the BUT…
As I sit here and contemplate what I think is necessary for my life to be happy, I begin to wonder whether or not trying to harness the crazy is what is bringing me down. I get really wrapped up in trying to make things perfect. (I should fucking know by now, life is never going to be impeccable. Who said it should be anyway?) Do I need to sweep the floor daily… probably not, but the dog hair drives me nuts. So, I’m walking the centerline of a double-edged sword.
Perhaps instead of striving for perfection, I should aim for the best possible outcome. I will always think something could be better. My body could be fitter, my skin could be more radiant, my cooking could be tastier, or my house could be cleaner… I mean, let’s be realistic. There are a lot of fucking things that I could be better at in my life. Guess what? I just don’t have the time for that shit. I think I’m doing pretty damn good, and I don’t care if I could be better because I’m currently killing it in my own way.
My theory is that I just might be driving myself insane. I’m too high strung. There – I admit it. I know it’s true, but I can’t help it. I need to worry less about the dumb shit in my life. Who cares if my kid’s room is a disaster… close the door and walk away (except for food wrappers, those gotta go.) Who cares if my bed isn’t made with all the pillows nicely placed… they are going to end up on the floor tonight anyway. And, who cares if there is a bit of dust on the furniture… Christmas will be here soon, and we can say it is “snow.”
You know who cares? No one that matters. Those who love you for who you are will not care that your home, your kids, or your life isn’t flawless. They will appreciate how they feel when they are with you and see the goodness exuded by you into the world.
So, I’m going to try to loosen my grip on the crazy a bit, and learn to embrace it. We shouldn’t be afraid of being less than perfect. Let’s just be ourselves. The wonderfully hair-brained and beautiful people that we indeed are.
Maybe try to take a step back and leave the laundry for another day… cause guess what, it’s still gonna be waiting there tomorrow!