Perfection

 I teach at a high school where perfectionism is an epidemic, and kids crumble when they do not reach their own (or their families') impossibly high standards. I do not envy these kids: too many of them have lost their joy; too many of them have forgotten (at such a young age!) why it's wonderful to be living.

I think of one of my jobs as a teacher as showing them what it's like to have a meaningful life, modeling to them what it means to live in integrity with one's self, and how to seek joy at every turn. Part of this is doing things imperfectly, and forgiving one's self even as one balances accepting faults and trying to improve them. I let the kids know how imperfect my life is - cancer, divorce, yada yada yada - and how joyful it is anyway.

Today is a joyful day.

I woke up to the "Besties" thread already lighting up my phone; Carolyn and Susan were texting before I was even awake, sharing the details of their lives with each other and with me. That's perfection: people who care about me, and who are brave in speaking their joys and sorrows. We chatted for a while in the early morning as I made and drank my coffee, and then we all went to our tasks knowing that the others were there if we needed them.

Because it's a day off, I went to the park and the beach. My imperfect life means that I missed a step in the dark and did something unpleasant to my knee on Saturday and I've been trying to baby it since then, but I felt up to a gentle walk today. I meandered the beach, taking in the incredible autumn light, the sound of the gentle waves on the pebbles, the calls of shorebirds and crows. A seal popped up and we held eye contact. The grandmother trees in the park stood sentry, the ferries came and went, the light snow on the mountains in the distance promised more to come. The leaves are no longer brilliant red and gold, and some of the trees are bare, but some trees still have soft ambers and browns, the gentle side of autumn, and the firs and the cedars contribute their rich forest colors.

The seal popped up nearby, and I made my way over the logs to get closer to her. As I got to the water's edge, I found a tire filled with Styrofoam - obviously a buoy lost its moorings - about six feet out. I found a long stick (almost a small log) and used it to pull the tire in, then rolled it across the beach, path, and grass to the nearest rubbish bin, and I felt like a small hero for saving the nasty Styrofoam from further degrading into the beautiful Sound, and for finding ways to fish it out of the water.

Three crows witnessed me, and I heard them speaking to one another in a language I rarely hear: purrs and gurgles in a song that was quite beautiful and soft, nothing harsh at all, and I was overcome with the beauty of the light on their feathers and the moment.

I ran errands, came home and raked the leaves from the driveway by the garage (I've been meaning to do that for a week!), showered and changed into an outfit that I love, and then made bread dough (which is now rising). I sat and journaled in my favorite cozy chair, and then I made tea and sat here to talk to you. I'll work on my book next, and then I'll meet a friend at the coffee shop. When she leaves I'll stay at the coffee shop a while longer, grading. (I've decided that my writing studio is NOT for work. The two will be kept separate!)

Tonight I'll make a big pot of vegetable soup to go with my bread, and I'll cut into my pomegranate to put the jeweled fruit into a spinach salad, and I'll curl up in my favorite PJs to read a book for a while.

This is a short work week because of Veteran's Day (thank you, Veterans!), and then there's only a week until the next short week and Thanksgiving. My work life balance feels manageable, despite the stack of grading.

This weekend I'm vising Alex in Pullman, and picking up Tessa in Ellensburg to join me. To have these young people in my life to spoil a bit is such a gift in my life, and I'm looking forward to a mini-adventure. Tessa will stay on Alex's couch so that they can go out in the evenings and I can go to bed at what I consider a reasonable time, and we'll eat good food and find things to entertain ourselves.

Speaking of good food: I have been sugar free since November 1st, and I'm so proud of myself. My body feels much better, and I'm glad I finally summoned my willpower to make this happen, because I deserve to feel good.

I did a spell involving a blue candle, incense, and crystals (labradorite for transformation, citrine for success, amethyst and quartz for clarity and higher self, fluorite for focus) invoking change for myself, and the change I asked for is for consistency in my writing practice. "The first thing the magic changes is you" and this is true for me: the intentionality of lighting the incense and candle daily (for five days), burning a piece of paper with my intentions written on it, and then sitting down to write does somehow feel magical. Is it the lovely scent of the incense, the fire of the candle, and the metaphysical properties of the stones... or is it all my intentionality in creating a small beautiful ritual that makes it feel easier to follow through on my dreams?

It doesn't really matter, does it? Because I'm here, and peaceful, and hopeful, and filled with ideas for my book. The main characters are named Margaret and Maya, and I hear them whispering in my dreams that they want to tell their story.

The calendar is filled with fun events, and with chores, in balance. I'm so grateful for the beautiful weather today that made me linger on the shore and take a million pictures on my old iPhone, spamming my friends with "isn't it just so beautiful here?" and "look at this pretty seashell I found!" (today it was a chiton, freshly eaten by some other creature, the inside beautiful bright turquoise and smelly). I'll have to face those papers this afternoon, and tomorrow my exercise will by necessity take place in the week hours of the morning in my basement, not in the sunshine along the edge of the forest and the sea, but that's okay too. I'll put on an audiobook and use my treadmill, and then I'll hit my yoga mat for a bit and I'll go to work in the dark feeling proud of myself. There is joy in that, too: in knowing that I'm doing my best, and that while I am not in the best shape at the moment I'm doing what I need to do to make my life the best I can.

Yesterday I saw orcas at Lowman Beach for the second time in a week, and my heart still leaps to think of it. Wordsworth felt it for "a rainbow in the sky" and I do like a good rainbow, but I swear it's got nothing on watching a wild whale swim by. I have good whale energy, and I see them often... is it because I'm lucky with whales, or because I'm always looking for them? Or isn't it the same thing?

I feel like the luckiest woman in the world lately, despite any evidence (there's plenty if you look) to the contrary. I know what bad days look like, having experienced a fair number of them (ha!), but this isn't it. This is pure magic, and I intend to honor it.

Perfect? I don't know what that is, and I think if we could define it, then perfection would shift and the definition would no longer serve. I'm not interested in perfection, which sounds absolutely exhausting to me (how could exhaustion be perfect?). 

But this? This is magic and love and gratitude and good will and hope and peace, to sit here on this five (six?) year old computer, in my pretty little basement office (that I've decided to call a studio, because it sounds so much more creative!), the sky soft blue and little birds fluttering by outside, candles flickering inside. I'm drinking tea that was a gift from Tessa, and it's got dried raspberry and lemon along with green rooibos, and I love it; it's even better in the mug from Orcas Island Pottery, with soft music in the background in a room full of plants and books and candles and light.

This is a beautiful life, even without breasts and ovaries, even without a family of origin or a husband holding me up.... or maybe especially because of that, because I know what pain feels like, and I can appreciate this gentle joy so much more because of that. 

"These are the good ol' days" sings Carly Simon, and Van Morrison told me there'd be "days like this." Khalid reminds me that "nothing feels better than this." Feelings come and go, and some days really stink, and I'll have those days again because life's like that. But in the mean time, I'm living in gratitude for days when perfection really doesn't seem that far away, and in deep gratitude that my mind will allow me to see it for the wonder that it really is.

The only thing that could make it better is fulfilling my promise to Maya and Margaret to tell their stories today, so please excuse me while I go meet them in the corners of my mind and bring them to life.

I hope that today you, too, are touched with magic and joy and hope, and that you're having a great day. But if today is on the other side of that equation, as sometimes life is, I hope that you remember that days like this await you, and that when you get there it will feel all the sweeter because you know the taste of sorrow.

Until next time, dear readers. Thanks for coming on this journey with me.