“Good, better, best. Never let it rest. Until your good is better and your better best.” As a first grader in catholic school, this is what the nuns said, nay sang to us. Imagine hearing this message over and over as a small child. Would you raise your hand if you weren’t sure you had the answer? Would you volunteer to do the math problem on the chalk board if you knew how to begin but couldn’t see how the equation would unfold? I didn’t. Instead, I learned then that I had to be perfect. It has taken a lifetime to learn otherwise.

When I was trying to be perfect, I couldn’t take risks. I wouldn’t try a new skill lest I perform poorly (as is inevitable). Trying to be perfect kept me afraid. Most recently, I have been afraid of imperfectly supporting a friend who is dying. But I am showing up to spend time with her, I am bringing food (mostly beer and chocolate, her favorites), I am listening. And somehow it seems to hearten her.

Needless to say, I have never been perfect. I have been and am an imperfect mother, friend, sister, colleague, daughter. Yet, I am enough. And I am happier having let go of all the endless striving. This summer, I gave paddleboarding a try. I fell in the bay quite a few times. It was a beautiful day, the water was lovely, and I had a fabulous time.