Hello from me, on the train, listening to a podcast! I'm celebrating a year into blogging (happy anniversary to us!), two years into my writing journey, and fifty years into living in my own imperfect skin.
Like you, I'm a work in progress.
Worries, wrinkles, opportunities, joy.
But every day, social media tells us we're supposed to be perfect: fit and self-disciplined and techno-savvy and politically active and fashionable and Instagram-perfect...with kids who achieve and a whole stack of personal victories that we trot out at parties.
Oh, and we're not supposed to age.
Yes, I do this. (It's easy)
Yes, I am this. (It's easy)
And the truth -- that sometimes we're tired, that sometimes we fail (loudly, publicly), that sometimes we disappoint ourselves or are gutted by the people we love -- that truth hides with all the photos we delete. Too old. Too fat! Too boring to share. That won't get any Likes.
Delete. (What would the online world look like if we shared our Deletes?)
I've decided that chasing perfection -- in real life or online -- is exhausting. So here's a thought:
Can we make peace with ourselves, right now, as we are? I'm a work-in-progress. So are you.
A young friend asked me what I've learned from being 50, and I told her this: I've learned we don't have to do it all...perfectly. We just have to do what we love.
ps. Happy blog anniversary, everyone! Honestly, truly, thank you for reading. I hope I've made your life a little more lovely this year. That's been my intent.