Life is Fumbling

Life is fucking humbling. It’s “fumbling”.

Who’s with me?

I’m not being negative, just real. I can honestly say I’ve been knocked down a notch or twenty, mostly after becoming an “adult” and spawning.

When I was young, everything had to be perfect. In hindsight, I clearly had anxiety and OCD. I had to have the perfect hair, the perfect clothes, the perfect friends, the perfect grades, and even the perfect handwriting. I’m still bitter about coming in 2nd place in that elementary school cursive contest. Mother effer.

And, of course I was in no way “perfect” with any of that but it’s the expectation I bestowed upon myself, and I busted my ass to achieve it.

My parents didn’t push me towards perfection. On the contrary, they wanted me to chill the fuck out. They thought I was weird and of course had a great time making fun of me for it…’cuz that’s just what we did…we laughed about how weird we were. (Now we take our kids to doctors to see what the hell’s wrong with them, huh).

It didn’t help that I was painfully shy and socially awkward, so people I hadn’t allowed into my “circle” just thought I was a bitch. Regardless, I could not control my drive toward perfection and it was really, really, hard for me to settle for anything less.

Later, I had to be the perfect athlete, student, employee, girlfriend, and I dreamt of marrying the perfect guy and having the perfect family. Being “perfect” was like my full-time job and it was fucking exhausting.

Then it all changed. I mean, not all, but a lot of it, and by that, I mean my mentality about achieving perfection. As I “matured” and experienced what comes with real life and things I just can’t control, I succumbed to the realization that life is not perfect. So, I told myself to calm down and get over it.

It’s kind of nice to let yourself off the hook sometimes.

Now I’m like “Fuck perfection”. B O R I N G.

As a small example, like so many women, I’ve spent the majority of my life obsessing over my weight. I gain it easier than hot butter melts on a biscuit (mmmmm) but I lose it as easy as catching a greased pig.

As I approach 50 (with pride, dammit), and because I like, no love, my wine and chocolate, and despite the fact that I work out 4.5 days a week (did I mention I have OCD?), my clothes seem to just be getting tighter. Mother fucker.

I *think* though, that I’ve FINALLY had enough and that I’m “OK” with it. For now, anyway. The “perfect” me used to say “Um, no ma’am. Need to take off that 3 pounds ASAP. Let’s do this.” Then, I’d do it and be like “Yay! I did it.” Then I’d gain it back and feel defeated.


Now, my attitude about that and other things is like “Why strive for perfection when it’s simply not sustainable?”. Perfection is a made-up bull-shit goal that sets us up for disappointment and self-deprecation. Fuck that. I’d rather be 10 pounds heavier and happy.

Buh-bye scale. Hello margarita. On the beach. With people who love me. No matter what I look like. Oh and by the way, they are happy with who they are, too. It’s a win, win. I feel so much better now, how ‘bout you?

As I mentioned in a past blog, so much has happened in my life that makes me give way less of a shit about stupid things now. Good days are good. Good is good. Based on the feedback I got from many of you from that blog, you feel the same. Isn’t it liberating to let shit go…or at least to KNOW that shit will be spewed at you and that you will handle it?

Small and gross example: when my dogs eat their own crap. So incredibly disgusting. My mom (Diann) CANNOT handle it. When she sees them doing it, she has a conniption. She jumps up, runs to the door and starts yelling “NO!” “NO!” “DO NOT EAT THAT!” Then she turns and yells to me “THEY ARE EATING THEIR POOP!”. (Later she tells me all the medical reasons why they do this, based on her extensive research.)

I’m like “Mom, don’t tell me. If I didn’t see it, it didn’t happen.” (Denial is a preferred coping mechanism.) Besides, I figure they are hungry and just need a snack. And I figure not only do they think poop smells good, I’m guessing their poop also smells like what they just ate. I mean, I guess if my pee tasted like wine, I’d just whiz right into a goblet.

I think my pups are just kinda like “Whatevs, I’m hungry and it’s right here.” Kind of like when I SHOULD fix myself a nice salad, but there’s a bowl of Cadbury eggs on the counter just staring at me.

So, what’s been “fumbling” for me? Soooo many things. Way too many to list but the ones that come to mind first are: 1) raising kids who are POLAR opposites, and clumsily navigating the seas of mental illness with LOTS of feelings of failure and guilt, and 2) watching someone watch themself die over a long 2-years (my dad) with nothing I could do to ease their suffering.

And of course other “normal” things like getting cut from the soccer team in high school, thinking I killed an interview but DID NOT, choking on a piece of broccoli at work and wetting my pants as a result (mind you, the Heimlich was involved), getting “fined” (more than once) for forgetting to show up to a doctor’s appointment (that would have set me over the edge back in the day), having to bite my lip about a million times while conversing with my kids when I just wanted to either slap them silly or run away and sob. You know, the normal shit.

It’s all good though. Humility makes you stronger, right? It’s hard enough simply to survive these days, so why let embarrassment and humiliation bring ya down?

You too, should embrace the humbling moments in your life. Be free! Be liberated! After all, they ain’t over. So much more fumbling life events to come…yay!

It’s life. Life is good (most of the time). Good is good.

Which reminds me, I didn’t achieve “perfection” in any areas of my life…except for one – my husband (aw, shucks). He’s pretty frickin’ awesome and he loves me…for who I am.

He’s also my blog pulse check (I send each blog to him get his reaction before I post. He’s way more conservative than me, so if it passes his test, it’s golden). After reading this one, he shared with me that after meeting me, he felt he needed to up his game, in other words, he felt like I needed him to be perfect. Ah, shit. That made me feel terrible…especially thinking back and now totally getting it. He’s right. I put a LOT of stress on him. I guess I had such high expectations of myself that I projected that onto him.

He didn’t tell me that to make me feel bad. Rather, in a way, he was letting me off the hook after reading how messed up my views of perfection were and how it pained me to try to achieve them.

I’m thankful he stuck it out with me. I *think* he likes me better now that I’m more chill…but sometimes I wonder. I think sometimes he thinks I’m too chill. He knows that I like myself better though, she he goes with it.

The other night, my “perfect” husband and I were slurping wine and playing the song game (we take turns playing any song ever made), and I played this song by Mumford & Sons. We both sat there and listened to the lyrics and agreed that parts of it summarize how we feel about things as we “mature”. Check it out and enjoy.

Cheers to you…and remember, “you are not alone in this”.

Timshel, by Mumford & Sons

Cold is the water

It freezes your already cold mind

Already cold, cold mind

And death is at your doorstep

And it will steal your innocence

But it will not steal your substance

But you are not alone in this

And you are not alone in this

As brothers we will stand and we’ll hold your hand

Hold your hand

And you are the mother

The mother of your baby child

The one to whom you gave life

And you have your choices

And these are what make man great

His ladder to the stars

But you are not alone in this

And you are not alone in this

As brothers we will stand and we’ll hold your hand

Hold your hand

But I will tell the night

And whisper, “Lose your sight”

But I can’t move the mountains for you


5 thoughts on “Life is Fumbling”

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