A parent at the school, a new friend, told me today that she marvels at my ability to get everything done that I do. I explained that all I do is put one foot in front of the other.
She asked if she could help with what I was doing and I gladly gave her a task...she was doing it when she asked if I was a perfectionist...and I laughed and said that I most certainly was not. "Good enough!" is my mantra far more often than not. Pondering this, it occurred to me that in reality, I don't have TIME for perfection. I have too much to do. It doesn't all get done well...hell, sometimes it doesn't even get done...but if I strived (strove?) for perfection, I doubt any of it would get at all.
Michael has something he calls the 95% rule. The idea is that to get a task 95% of the way done takes a certain amount of time. Then, the last 5% of that task very often, can take almost as much. It's all in the details. He applies this rule to coding, to housejobs, to gardening...and while the point of this rule is not to invalidate the importance of that last 5%, it does often happen by default, resulting in us only getting things *most* of the way done, because those last details are just plain tedious...and can take us away from doing 95% of something else. Back to my mantra, "good enough". Because, really, there are a LOT of tasks that need doing. Once we've gotten to something where "good enough" IS good enough, we often move on. I applaud those detail oriented folks who want everything to be JUSTEXACTLYRIGHT before they move on to the next thing...but that's just not me. I have stuff to do, and not enough time to do it in as it is, much less if I fuss over getting every last thing *just so*. Perfectionism is for those people who post stuff on pintrest. I can't...I just can't. I applaud those who do, don't get me wrong...we need a world of diversity. We need a world where people pay attention to detail and where people plow through getting loads of stuff done. We need people to create beauty, people to appreciate it, people to make stuff, people to buy stuff (although the fact that there is too much stuff in the world is a whole other blog post) and people to clean up when all the stuff is gone. We need those pintrest people and we also need the people that haven't ever even been on pintrest (raises hand). Everyone has a gift to give...contentedness comes when we learn to be happy with whatever that is. Am I a perfectionist? Far from it...but another friend just told me I poop rainbows, which I think was a compliment.
Children's entertainer, Laurie Berkener, who saved many a car ride when my kids were toddlers, has a song called "I'm Not Perfect". The lyrics to the chorus are
I'm not perfect, no I'm not.
I'm not perfect, but I've got what I've got.
I do my very best, I do my very best, I do my very best each day...
But I'm not perfect, and I hope you like me that way.
Those lyrics might be wrong...I am writing them from memory, and, well, I'm not perfect. :)
About Me
- Ariella
- I blog. I also mother, wife, create, preserve, recycle, cook, act, quilt, exercise, laugh, write, lolligag, work, volunteer, sing, and sometimes sleep.
Thursday, March 13, 2014
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Being Legal
18 years ago this morning, I woke up with one thought in my head. I wanted a new life. I was done with the boy I'd been seeing for the previous 18 months. Our relationship wasn't good for either of us, even considering the good parts. I knew it was time to move on. I hadn't been able to make the break, because our relationship was mostly a pretty easy one, built on friendship, common interests, and a strong physical connection, but we weren't meant for each other. I was done with the string of relationships I'd been in for years. I wanted some freedom, a chance to just be me. 9 months out of college, a burgeoning freelance career, and all kinds of options awaited...but first, this day. March 2nd. I rolled over in bed and looked at an invitation for a party that my friend was throwing that evening and took note of the last line on the handwritten, "Xeroxed" invitation, "If there's a person you're supposed to meet, they will be there." I rolled my eyes and sighed. Oh, Gabe. So optimistic.
18 years ago this afternoon I stopped by a community garden right by my apartment that had just put up a sign that it was FINALLY accepting applications for new members. I dropped off my carefully written application and stood watching the sun start to make its downward trajectory and daydreamed about this new life of mine...I was sure to meet a bunch of fun crunchy granola types here and this would just be the start of this carefree, fun, without strings life I was about to start. I knew big things were coming and headed home to make my potluck contribution for the party (had to be something that began with the first letter of your name...I was going to make "Noodles and Alfredo" cause I had already said I was going to bring the aforementioned boy and knew it was up to me to provide. I figured I'd make a lot to make up for chintzing on the name thing.)
18 years ago tonight I arrived at the party, hot dish in hand, boy trailing behind...ready to meet new people. I met an interesting redhead in the kitchen almost first thing...as I set down my dish. He'd brought 2 different dishes of Mac n Cheese, cause his name was Michael. I felt a little dash of guilt. My jacket still in hand, a friend popped her head in the door and took our picture. The evening passed pretty quickly. I was really enjoying talking to the redhead, but I wasn't sure if he was enjoying talking to me *quite* the same way. Looking at the pleats on his J. Peterman pirate shirt, I was pretty convinced he wasn't. There was a very pretty girl with a shaved head who I thought might be more interested in me, and I spent a little bit of time working on my girl flirting skills, which hadn't been successfully used in a couple of years. Eventually the boy I came with let me know he was ready to go home, and while I wasn't, I grudgingly left to drive him home.
18 years ago right about now, I drove my kinda boyfriend home and asked him if I could come in, because I was weak willed and needy. Thankfully he said no. I drove around the corner where some of my friends, including my roommate, were getting ready for the midnight show of Rocky Horror. My roommate and another friend of mine were standing outside the theater and I pulled up to say hi and to vent about my situation. My roommate was tired of hearing me complain about the boy, and once they heard there were not one, but two potentially interesting people back at the party, they both insisted I backtrack and drive back over to the party. So I did.
17 years, 11 months, 30 days, and 23 and a half hours ago I got back to the party, and much to my chagrin, the cute shorn girl was gone. The redhead was still there, and it turns out, he WAS interested in me. We ended up going to first base and the next morning helped clean up, exchanged numbers, and promised to stay in touch. I remember walking back to my car and being decently annoyed. I knew something WAS different, but it wasn't the kind of different I had planned. I could tell that there was something very different about *this* boy. Life was going to be different, but it wasn't going to involve me being carefree and single. And it turns out, I was right.
That redhead is now my husband of almost 16 years. He is the father of my children. He is my best friend, my biggest fan, my most vehement supporter. He's the person I most enjoy spending time with, the one I most admire...we are inextricably linked. We have grown up together. He can make me laugh with a word. He knows me better than anyone. And we're finally legal. 18 years since the day we met and started our life together.
Who knew Gabe would be right?
18 years ago this afternoon I stopped by a community garden right by my apartment that had just put up a sign that it was FINALLY accepting applications for new members. I dropped off my carefully written application and stood watching the sun start to make its downward trajectory and daydreamed about this new life of mine...I was sure to meet a bunch of fun crunchy granola types here and this would just be the start of this carefree, fun, without strings life I was about to start. I knew big things were coming and headed home to make my potluck contribution for the party (had to be something that began with the first letter of your name...I was going to make "Noodles and Alfredo" cause I had already said I was going to bring the aforementioned boy and knew it was up to me to provide. I figured I'd make a lot to make up for chintzing on the name thing.)
18 years ago tonight I arrived at the party, hot dish in hand, boy trailing behind...ready to meet new people. I met an interesting redhead in the kitchen almost first thing...as I set down my dish. He'd brought 2 different dishes of Mac n Cheese, cause his name was Michael. I felt a little dash of guilt. My jacket still in hand, a friend popped her head in the door and took our picture. The evening passed pretty quickly. I was really enjoying talking to the redhead, but I wasn't sure if he was enjoying talking to me *quite* the same way. Looking at the pleats on his J. Peterman pirate shirt, I was pretty convinced he wasn't. There was a very pretty girl with a shaved head who I thought might be more interested in me, and I spent a little bit of time working on my girl flirting skills, which hadn't been successfully used in a couple of years. Eventually the boy I came with let me know he was ready to go home, and while I wasn't, I grudgingly left to drive him home.
18 years ago right about now, I drove my kinda boyfriend home and asked him if I could come in, because I was weak willed and needy. Thankfully he said no. I drove around the corner where some of my friends, including my roommate, were getting ready for the midnight show of Rocky Horror. My roommate and another friend of mine were standing outside the theater and I pulled up to say hi and to vent about my situation. My roommate was tired of hearing me complain about the boy, and once they heard there were not one, but two potentially interesting people back at the party, they both insisted I backtrack and drive back over to the party. So I did.
17 years, 11 months, 30 days, and 23 and a half hours ago I got back to the party, and much to my chagrin, the cute shorn girl was gone. The redhead was still there, and it turns out, he WAS interested in me. We ended up going to first base and the next morning helped clean up, exchanged numbers, and promised to stay in touch. I remember walking back to my car and being decently annoyed. I knew something WAS different, but it wasn't the kind of different I had planned. I could tell that there was something very different about *this* boy. Life was going to be different, but it wasn't going to involve me being carefree and single. And it turns out, I was right.
That redhead is now my husband of almost 16 years. He is the father of my children. He is my best friend, my biggest fan, my most vehement supporter. He's the person I most enjoy spending time with, the one I most admire...we are inextricably linked. We have grown up together. He can make me laugh with a word. He knows me better than anyone. And we're finally legal. 18 years since the day we met and started our life together.
Who knew Gabe would be right?
Saturday, March 1, 2014
And Time Flew
Going to commit to writing more. Again. There have been so many half written, un-written, re-written unpublished posts, they actually outnumber the amount of posts I have written. I find solace in writing. I get a release that very few things are able to give me. When I vent in writing, I am often able to let things go. This is an incredibly handy skill and I need to embrace it more.
This is my reintroduction to this place and this process. Who knows what I'll talk about! How exciting!!
This is my reintroduction to this place and this process. Who knows what I'll talk about! How exciting!!
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