simple living

Life is Not a Pinterest Competition

People often say to me, “your house must be perfect.”

It’s not.

My friends and family can attest to that.

Sure, it’s my own little Petri dish and I have a lot of fun figuring out how to make it as organized as possible. I get to experiment and tinker in the hopes of a more streamlined and peaceful existence.

But it does NOT look like the cover of a Martha Stewart magazine. Or a model home for the Container Store. Or a recent HGTV makeover.

It is a real home, with 3 real-life, complicated humans living in it. And I make it a point to tell people this.

Because life is not a Pinterest competition.

You do not have to have a pantry with matching glass containers that are perfectly and elegantly storing every piece of cereal, every dry bean and every grain of couscous.

You do not have to have every damn LEGO drawer color-coordinated until the day you perish.

You do not have to roast the chicken perfectly and then cut the chicken and then serve the chicken, all while your adoring children sit quietly in their hand-sewn-by-you outfits.

Instead, you can choose to surround yourself with only those things that bring you joy.

And you can be completely unapologetic about that.

Me and Ray LaMontagne Do the Dishes

Photo by  Facundo Aranda  on  Unsplash

I can't do the dishes without Ray. Ray LaMontagne, that is. 

You see, when I look at that messy pile of what-just-happened in my kitchen, my first thought is "ugh". My second thought is "Ray".

I ask myself, is this a "2-song mess" or a "3-song mess"? Then I get to work. "OK Google - Play Ray LaMontagne". 

(If you've gotten this far, and don't know who Ray LaMontagne is, stop right now and listen to this song. You're welcome.) 

So often, I feel downright annoyed by the drudgery of daily life. 

Wake up. Make the bed. Make the breakfasts. Pack the lunches. Pack the homework. Wash the dishes. Fold the laundry. Clean the floors. Run the errands. Pick up at school. Fold more laundry. Wash more dishes. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. 

Let's be honest. It can be BORING. Especially when there are so many other more thrilling things to do. Like read articles about life hacks. Or read The Invention of Wings. Or watch The Handmaid's Tale. Or sleep. Oh, glorious sleep. (Can you tell I'm an introvert?!)

The thing is, when I think about it, usually that thing I need to do will take me no longer than two songs do it. Three songs, max.

So, I roll up my sleeves, tell my husband that I need some alone time with Ray, and then we (me and Ray) do the dishes. (Don't worry - it'll be my husband's turn to do the dishes next.)

After about three songs, the dishes are done, I'm humming my favorite songs, and I'm off to read my book, or watch my show, or cuddle with my daughter, or sleep. Oh. Glorious. Sleep.

Next time you're faced with a little drudgery, invite somebody to do the dishes with you. 

Just not Ray.

He's taken. 

Do Something Badly

Photo by  David Pisnoy  on  Unsplash

I heard a phrase the other day on my favorite podcast that felt like it was sent down from heaven: "Do something badly."

"What the heck does that mean?", you might say ... 

It means that you should give yourself total permission to do "that thing" that you always want to do but that you never do because you're afraid you'll be bad at it. So, do it anyway. Badly.

It means that you don't have to be good at yoga. You can do it badly.

It means that you don't have to be a great cook. You can do it badly.

It means that you don't have to meditate as if you were the second coming of Deepak Chopra. Do it badly. 

It means that you don't have to stress about the fact that you haven't written a blog post in two months because you just can't think of the perfect thing to say. (Ahem). You can do it badly.

Giving ourselves permission to do something badly means that we can get off of the hamster wheel of feeling like we have to be perfect at everything.

Life is not a Pinterest competition. There is so much beauty in imperfection. 

Do tell ... what are YOU going to do badly this week?