I’ve been trying to come to a realization. One that might allow some quiet in my mind. One that might make daily forgiveness of myself a possibility. Or maybe not even needed.
I’m trying to fill all the little spaces in my brain with the realization that I am never going to have it together. Not today or tomorrow. Not once I get used to the new morning commute or get the hang of this job. Not after the holidays or when I’m older. Not ever.
My life is messy. It’s busy. I want so much, and so much wants me.
I will always be running out the door and dashing back in to find my keys.
There will always be unfolded laundry on the couch and last-minute pasta and sauce from a jar for dinner.
I will always be going to bed later than I’d planned and waking up earlier than I’d like.
I will always be behind in responding to emails and apologizing for sending late birthday wishes.
I will always be on the verge of losing my grasp.
I will never lead a life of precision or organization or tidiness. I will never have a neatly arranged pantry or a clean inbox.
I will never check everything off my to-do list or even figure out how to have fewer than ten hastily scribbled to-do lists crumpled in the bottom of my purse.
But maybe all that is okay.
Maybe my life is not one that’s meant to be gotten together. Maybe my life is about something different from that. Maybe my life is about abundance and a little chaos.
I am trying to realize this – this maybe.
If I can accept that – that different story of my life – maybe then I could forgive myself for being so deeply human and just get on with the living.