A Love Note to Recovering Perfectionists

Recovering perfectionists? You are my people. I'm growing lazier as I age. Less ambitious. It's glorious and also unsettling. The old questions persist, popping up like weeds in unexpected places. Shouldn't I be doing more, being more, creating more, offering more? Day after day, there is so much I don't do -- go for that run, get on that yoga mat, zero in on that book idea. I no longer expect it to go away, the expectation. The difference is how I meet it, and with each passing year, I become less invested in this driving, striving hum. What replaces it? A growing curiosity about just being here. Or better yet, being here, without that little jab of "just" that shows up in my shoulders, my shallow breathing. If I don't keep practicing letting this be enough, nothing will ever be enough. And I really, really don't want to spend the rest of my life, however long that may be, chasing my own tail, quietly berating myself, and carrying that ever-present weight of questioning the legitimacy of my life. This is it, folks. Let’s be it.