Present Over Perfect

before the countdown to midnight, we sit in a circle and take
turns reading lists we’ve made of the ten greatest blessings
of the year.
And this year, our son Henry—perceptive, articulate,
old-souled—told this circle of friends and family that one of
the things he was most thankful for was that his parents
don’t work too much to spend time with him. Tears, of
course, sprang to my eyes. We don’t talk with him about
this stuff, necessarily. We just do it, and trust that he notices.
And he does.
He talked about several other things he’s thankful for—
his grandparents, his favorite teacher Miss Gillespie, our
basketball hoop, and then his tenth blessing was the word
connected. He said, “You know, I just feel like my mom
and dad and Mac and I are really connected.”
Maybe you’ve always managed your time and your
anxieties and your compulsions just perfectly. Maybe your
kids have always felt super-duper connected. Maybe your
marriage has always been a model of intimacy.
But that’s not my story. I was heading for a crash,
having lost touch with my essential self and the hand of God
to guide me. I cannot express to you how easily that
connection we now experience could have been
compromised forever in my panicky need to outrun my fear
and hustle for my identity.
My life is smaller, slower, simpler. My days are less
complicated. I sleep better, and wake with a heart of deep
gratefulness. I’ve become able to appreciate silliness again,