Present Over Perfect

also practice hospitality to my complicated feelings about
my body. Because they’re a part of me, too.
Some of my obsession with perfection rears its head on
this topic. I don’t often these days expect my body to be
perfect. But I do sometimes demand my outlook about it to
be perfectly evolved and positive. I’m not there yet.
I’m going to both take up space and create space—for
my body, and also for my sadness and my longing and my
anger. There’s room here for good days and bad ones, for
crying in dressing rooms and dancing in the kitchen. For
sizing up my jeans . . . again, and for feeling something like
beautiful when my husband captures a photo of me on the
beach with our boys.
I really wanted to have this part of my life nailed by the
time I turned forty. I suppose I still could—we have a
couple months. But I think this is one I might not ever nail.
It might be one I just learn to make space for in my life and
my heart.
Here’s to being medium. And here’s to sometimes being
happy about it, and to giving myself space and grace when
I’m not.