Heard it on the CBS morning news in a viewer tweet… “Good Enough is the New Perfect.”
Oh my gosh… they had me at Good Enough.

I’ve never thought of myself as a perfectionist, but when I make a short list of the things that exhaust me, it’s all about trying to be perfect to please other people.
Grocery shopping (at multiple stores so I get the “right” salmon and the “best” balsamic vinegar).
Answering emails (I want them to feel my personality come through).
Mothering (don’t get me started).
Wifing (is that even a word?)

It’s all just so tiring.
What I want is the feeling that it’s OK to be average.

It feels scary to even consider being average.
To stop the fight.
To settle.

I think that if I’m not trying to excel, I will fall back into a murky melting pot of the masses and die a faceless “everyone” with gray, drab skin and gray, drab clothing.
Not that I’m overly dramatic.

But here’s the real truth.
I am average.
I am not the best in the world at anything.
I am somewhere below the top 5% and above the bottom 5%.
But the collection of things that makes me different and unique from other people is going to be there no matter what I do to strive to be exceptional.

Truth #2 – If I relax about trying to be perfect, and instead play and let myself really enjoy the things that make me happy, I will have more of a chance of becoming exceptional at something than following all of these rules I have created in my head.
If I don’t try so hard to be perfect, I end up closer to perfect.

So, the new thought I am choosing is: Stop the struggle: It’s like quicksand.
I’m enough.

Perfect is a moving target.
When I heard Brené Brown say that, “Perfection is a 20 ton shield. We carry it around thinking it’s going to protect us from being hurt. But it protects us from being seen.” That hit home.
I want to be seen.
Even when my bloomers are showing.

Put your shield down. Hike up your bloomers. Join us Good-Enoughers.

I have been having so much fun breaking the rules. Not the big ones. Haven’t killed a man lately. But I am pushing the boundaries on the rules I normally follow.

Last night I ran the dishwasher before it was full.

I am such a rebel.

When the kids were born, I felt suffocated… bound by all the “rules” about having kids and being a good parent.
I felt like I couldn’t curse.
I never used to curse, but feeling like I shouldn’t curse made me want to swear up a storm.
I didn’t think I should have adult television on in front of the children.
And our house is small… there isn’t a place where the kids can’t hear.
So no television.

Add in all the other “shoulds” I was telling myself and I finally broke.
I rebelled.
That’s right.

I threw an aluminum can in the REGULAR trash.

My husband later came along and pointed the can out to me, but it was not pretty as I snarled, “LEAVE THAT IN THE TRASH!”

I’m not so much a badass rebel, but a pitiful, snarling rebel.
A rebel in training.

But I got better at breaking the rules.
Sometimes I let the kids get away with not doing their chores.
I don’t shower just because it’s morning.
I don’t encourage my kids to take the most challenging classes at school.
I have stopped walking for exercise.
I have stopped going to the gym for exercise.

I have been practicing breaking rules.
And writing new rules.

They don’t sound like big rules, but it feels like freedom to me.

The best part is making up the new rules that work for me.
I now only exercise while having fun… like recess in elementary school used to feel.
That’s right. I don’t exercise because it’s good for me.
Ha!

Now I don’t (usually) care what other people think.
And that makes all the difference.

P.S.  – Don’t you just love the magnet on our dishwasher?  (It’s in the photo at the top.)  Whitney gave me the slide to unlock magnet for my birthday.  It’s been on my car and everything metal in our house.  The kids’ friends think it’s real!