Nobody's Perfect

At the age of 17, I had it all planned out. I knew what I was going to be, where I was going to go, and what I was going to do in my life. It's amazing how much clarity a 17 year old has when faced with the prospect of one's life work. But I had a plan. The PhD, the 2.5 children, the historic 5 bedroom home, the closet full of designer digs-all by the ripe old age of 30. Yeah, that was supposed to be me. But what I've learned now that I've crossed the three decade threshold is that "supposed" is another one of those words that should be banished from the language, like "should" and "maybe".

See, now that I'm 30, I have no clue what I really want to do with my life. Most days I am just content to live it, knowing every second that my next breath is not promised. I sit in my office, staring at grant proposals needing to be written, talking to needy clients on the phone and wonder "how did I end up here?". Then I hear a gurgle of sound and look down to my right, where my son, my first born, the begnining of my "supposed" 2.5, sits in his little blue rocking chair amazed at the colors in front of him. I stop typing for a moment and watch him struggle to get his hands to do what his eyes and mind want him to: grab the pink pig that dangles from the toy bar on his chair. With the determination of a scientist, he fiddles with his poorly coordinated hands and eyes until at last he swats the pig with his tiny hand. He lets out a squeal of laughter and I look at his little face aglow with a sense of accomplishment and joy. For this and other moments like it, "supposed to be" doesn't exist. You see, at times like this, it doesn't matter what kind of car I drive, what designer (or lack thereof) I wear, and what letters (or lack thereof) are printed behind my name. The only thing that I know for sure is that at moments like these, I am awestruck at the perfection which is my life.

My mother used to always say, be careful what you wish for. I had no idea 13 years ago when I wished for "a perfect life", that I would get it. I also had no idea it would be such a stark contrast of what my idea of perfect was at the time. That's not to say that I don't still want some of those things that I wanted then. A doctorate in some complex subject like Comparative Literature or Ethnomusicology would indeed give me fodder for tons of dinner party conversation. It might even make me a sought after talk radio guest or at the very least earn me a spot as an adjunct faculty lecturer at some out of the way college. But those things seem a bit superficial and can't compare to the joys of securing grants for grassroots non-profits and the worn-out pair of flip flops that I wore throughout my pregnancy that now sit on my shoe rack as cherished mementos. No, perfect has taken on a whole new meaning in my post-20's world. It's the pot of "light soup" my husband makes for me on warm summer afternoons. Its the sound of the athan on Sunday mornings, rousing me from a good Saturday night's rest, when the baby only needed one midnight nursing instead of three.

These days when I imagine my life, I stick to more realistic time frames. In a nutshell, I worry less about what I'll "be" in 10 years and more about who I am right now and how I can be better. I've resigned myself to the fact that I may never be all those things I wished for way back when. And you know what? It's ok. I'm healthy, I'm focused, and most of all, I'm loved. I'm becoming more of "me" everyday and that's a good thing.

Instead of longing for perfection these days, I pray that my life continues to be whole and complete. I only wish I could go back and tell my 17 year old self to do the same.