The Magical Year I Let Go

There’s currently a box sitting on the landing near our attic stairs. It holds ‘extra’ Christmas decorations: the ones I’m simply choosing not to put up this year.

This has been a great year in many ways, and a challenging one in many ways. I’m sure most people can agree.

The economy is concerning for a lot of us. In our home, we have a lot of transitions going on: Children transitioning to adulthood, myself transitioning back to some form of work, my mother transitioning beautifully to the 65+ set with all the legalese that comes with that, and my husband transitioning to assume a higher position at work.

We are all in flux it seems, and it’s felt this way for a couple of years now. Lots of moving parts and lots of changes.

Perhaps that’s why I crave simplicity and simply doing ‘enough.’

I set the bar too high for myself.

One of my character traits, which could be categorized as a ‘flaw’ or a ‘perk’ depending on how it’s applied, is that I strive for perfection.

Sometimes it’s ridiculous and I end up not completing projects because I don’t find them good enough, which is an arbitrary goal I set for myself. My recently released guided journal is a great example: I began working on the journal in July, and it had to be perfect. I set it aside in frustration one day after rewording a certain page about ten times.

It had to be perfect.

Except no … no, it didn’t. My idea of perfection would undoubtedly have faults found by others. I sat on that project for months before looking in the mirror one day and telling myself: That journal will be released on Black Friday. Make it happen.’

So I uploaded the file ‘Journal Final v18.pdf’ and pressed publish because published imperfection is better than unpublished 'perfection' any day.

One night this week I was sitting on our couch looking at the Christmas tree, and I saw two identical ornaments hung right next to each other.

What would you do, Moms? Get up and rearrange those ornaments for a more balanced look?

I almost did.

But those ornaments were put on the tree by our kids. I remembered our oldest daughter picking up our youngest to help her hang them. Who cares if they’re clustered together or identical ornaments are side by side?

The Year I Let Go

Photo: Some of our kids decorating the tree. Image provided by author.

Is the Christmas police coming in here and checking our trees, y’all??

I smiled and put my feet up instead, enjoying rest instead of obsessively chasing some idea of ‘perfection’ that simply doesn’t matter. I’d also been asking the teenagers to watch a certain holiday movie with me, and their schedules never seemed to coincide, so I went right ahead and watched it myself.

Having older teenage and young adult children means there’s way less time for those types of traditions. Getting them all together on the same day to watch a movie or decorate cookies is like getting all the foreign heads of state around a table at the same time.

I could get in my feelings about it. I could demand they all cancel their other plans, rearrange their work schedules, and insist they all be home on certain days and times, and for my efforts, I’d have a room full of sullen teens begrudgingly participating in an activity solely for my benefit.

Or I could sit on my couch, sip my coffee, and watch the holiday movie I want to watch.

While I was sitting, watching my movie, minding my business, a curious thing happened: Some of my children began drifting to the couch. My youngest curled up next to me, leaning on my arm and snuggling her favorite stuffie. My mom came in and sat with us. The other kids that were home came and sat down.

We all watched the movie together, and then they drifted away to go play video games, watch their TV shows together, and play music in the garage. I love that, too. I love that they have hobbies, interests, and relationships with one another that exist outside of the time I make them all spend together.

Coming from a traumatic childhood, a great source of constant stress and anxiety was not ever knowing what was coming next or what to expect. Even after the constant shuffling and moving of foster care, being in my adopted family brought little reprieve from my anxiety. I never knew what kind of mood my female adopter would be in, and we walked on eggshells around our home to avoid somehow upsetting her.

Additionally, lots of things were “above children’s heads;” we weren’t privy to knowing our weekend plans, schedules, trips, etc. because none of our time belonged to us. As a result, I became a massive control freak in my adult life.

I’m a planner. I like to know what’s coming. I like to know schedules, routes, and itineraries. It brings me comfort to simply be informed of all of the plans, and all of the options before I engage. Heck, I went to Villanova for a Project Management executive certificate, and I applied a lot of these principles in my personal life.

Being in total control meant I could avoid pain, discomfort, embarrassment, and anxiety — or so I thought.

Life doesn’t work that way.

It’s been a concentrated effort on my part to let go of having to completely and thoroughly plan every single detail of every single day. Doing so only causes more anxiety when something inevitably goes wrong.

This means getting the boxes down out of the attic and letting the decorating happen organically, over several days. It means watching the kids from the couch as they put the ornaments on the tree, not directing or instructing where each one should go.

It means finding comfort in the ‘good enough,’ finding satisfaction in the 90% and being okay with handling inevitable surprises and catastrophes as they come.

I’ve learned that instead of always being completely prepared, a more valuable life skill is being flexible and able to succeed even when challenges arise.

When I stop demanding rigid perfection, the casual flow of good energy has space to fill in the cracks and gaps.

When I relax, I can enjoy the organic, messy, joyous chaos of life.

The Magical Year I Let Go

On ideas of perfection, children, traditions, and expectations.

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