Present Over Perfect

changing everything. I can rest. I can fail. I can admit need
and weakness. I can exhale. It’s changing everything.
And so, that red heart. I wanted to carry it with me, and I
wanted it on my left arm. I’m left handed, and I want that
love to be the fuel. Whatever I build from here on out,
whatever I make, whatever I write, whatever I create, I want
the fuel that propels it to be love—not competition, not fear,
not proving.
And yes: the word sparked for me for the first time two
summers ago, when I was right smack dab in the middle of
the lost-rushed-push-push-push season, aching for a change
I didn’t yet have the words to articulate. I went on a retreat
—that same retreat where I learned to throw candy once
again.
As I sat at O’Hare, ready to depart, I texted a friend
who’d been on the same retreat the summer before. What
am I getting myself into? I asked. What do I need to know?
My friend Chris, who I’ve known for many years, who has
been a big brother and encourager for almost a decade,
replied with this: “Say YES. Jump. Hog the coconut
shrimp.”
I didn’t know what any of it meant, of course, but a few
hours in, I relayed those three instructions to my new
friends. We did indeed hog the coconut shrimp, and it was
impossibly delicious. And then we found ourselves
scrambling up a cliff, ready to jump. The men were
jumping, and it seemed like maybe the women were going
to hang back, appreciate the view. I started to turn back to