05 October 2010
I bite my nails. I go to bed too late (although I know better). I eat too much candy, and I'm messy. I forget where I put my house keys, or my cell phone, or my wallet, on a daily base. I haven't given any birthday gifts this year (although I do have them, in a box somewhere). I can't sing well or play an instrument. In fact, I don't know how to do anything very well. I haven't exercised in ages. I'm always out of cash. If I could, I'd wear sweatpants all day, every day.
But I love to laugh, and I laugh often and loud. I jump and skip and run with my three-year old. I sing in the shower. I carry my baby even when my back aches. I cuddle with my children, constantly. I love my husband. My mom is my best friend. I enjoy life. I am me. I'm alive. I'm too alive to be perfect.
Join me in Brené Brown's protest against perfectionism. (via Susannah Conway).