So, I don't know what exactly happened to April. Apparently you fly across the country a couple times and then drive a few hundred miles a couple times and throw a few big shin digs, and you enter a time warp where entire months simply disappear! I turned around Monday and realized that it was April 30th. I hadn't run in thirty days. I gave in to home-school-itis for thirty days (this means I creatively defined education and used it to count school days). I didn't have very disciplined eating for thirty days--some days were very, very, VERY undisciplined. I coasted and justified and excused and lived very moment to moment for thirty days. It was wonderful. As much as I love structure, and I do thrive in it, there are times when it's good to leave the bed unmade because you might use it sometime after lunch, to watch House reruns for four hours while working on your crochet, to eat three helpings of Texas chocolate sheet cake, to do more things on fewer hours sleep than you thought humanly possible, to laugh until your ribs hurt and your voice lowers an octave. These are all very good things. BUT if I lived like this all the time, I'd have to break my own consumer fast so that I could buy many many pair of very large elastic waist stretchy pants. We'd also have to hire a maid and a tutor because nothing would get done around here. My mattress would develop a me-shaped depression from all the hours of my derriere being pressed into it. Basically all order as we know it would break down into chaos and the universe would implode.
Instead this week I chose to celebrate Beginnagains. It's my way of acknowledging that sometimes every discipline you practice comes to a screeching halt and life takes a sharp right turn, tap-dancing in mismatched shoes. It's turning my perfectionist upside down and allowing myself to frolic in all my glorious flawdom because there is always I chance that tomorrow I will begin again. And so I have. This week was filled with the rebirth of running and (at last! Oh-praise-ye-the-LAAAWWWWWDDD!) swimming. I stopped eating sugar filled death trap food and instead again eating things that had roots just a few days ago. I began consuming coconut oil in oddly disconcerting amounts. I organized my kindle. Please grasp the magnitude, here. I once again hauled all the laundry room accumulates--the laundry room is the place where purged items rest until I am ready to shove them out the door-- to the van for site removal. My children are once again literate and so happy to be reading Longfellow sonnets while balancing proportions and comparing and contrasting the sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous systems (and watching Mythbusters a little bit. I still have a lingering cough of homeschoolitis). In other words, life moved on, and I didn't bother wasting time lamenting all that I didn't do in April. I celebrated what did happened, and I sidled up to May. I whispered, "Dear sweet birthday month, you are going to be ah-MAY-zing because you are so filled with possibility you are absolutely bursting. Let's do this last year of thirty like its 1999."
I spoke with a friend today about the fine line between excellence and perfection. She and I suffer from the same imbalance, often leaning way too far over into the snare of perfection instead of swimming freely in the depths of excellence. I can't waste time mourning what might have been because I can never ever recover those days and minutes. If I stop looking at them through the lens of perfectionism, I see that they are kaleidoscopically brilliant, composed as I would never have envisioned because I don't see in enough dimensions.
Beginnagains. It isn't too late to join the party. There's wonderful moments to explore. You should join me.