Present Over Perfect

much rest as I need, not just enough to get me through
without tears, but enough to feel alive and whole, grounded
and gracious. Things I haven’t been in years.
What I ache for these days is space, silence, stillness.
Sabbath. I want to clear away space and noise and things to
do and things to manage. I want less of everything. Less
stuff. Less rushing. Less proving and pushing. Less hustle.
Less snapping at my kids so that they’ll get themselves into
the car faster so we can go buy more stuff that we’re going
to throw away. Less consumption. Less feeling like my
mind is fragmented and my stomach is bloated and my life
is out of control.
I feel like I’m driving a car 100 miles an hour with music
blaring out of open windows. I screech into a parking lot,
throw the car in park, sprint into 7-Eleven, and race to the
back of the store. I throw my head back under the Slurpee
machine, and I fill my mouth with red Slurpee, tons and
tons, running down my face and neck. I just keep gulping
and gulping, sticky red corn syrup-y sludge, more and
more, until I stand up, smeared and dripping, and race back
for the car, on to the next thing, jamming the car into
reverse, music at mind-numbing volume.
That’s how I feel. And what I want is one strawberry. In
total silence. No 100 miles an hour, no music, no fake red
mess all over my face and neck. I want one real strawberry.
And I don’t know how to get there from here. I am stuffed.
You can use whatever term you want: besetting sin,
shadow side, strength and weakness. The very thing that