Yes, I know it’s a perfectly good adverb–and if we were talking about grammar, we could call it a noun–but in keeping with the past 197 days, we are going to abuse “imperfect” into service as a verb….
As in: now is not the time for perfecting my practice of living simply (or anything else, for that matter).
The house is close to being an empty shell. There are just a couple of pieces of furniture left to load into the pod (actually, it’s five, but who’s counting). The upstairs hallway is lined with boxes that are ready to move up to the new house, and we are still scheduled to have the pods drive off on Sunday.
And that’s where the imperfecting comes in.
I’ve hauled piles of cardboard away and searched out polystyrene recycling sites on a number of occasions over the past few months, but today, the trash collectors picked up all sorts of potentially recyclable and/or donation-worthy items and hauled them off to a landfill somewhere.
And I’ve shed t-shirts and suits by the bagful, and purged all sorts of “archival” items of doubtful interest–but now, I’m dumping stuff into boxes knowing that once they arrive at our new home in the mountains, we will need to filter through piles of paper and mountains of old shoes… or we will be right back into the clutter.
And perhaps this moment was inevitable, regardless of the circumstances, but certainly with a funeral in just a couple of days and my wife off with her mother, there really was little other choice I had.
The choice I do have, though is this: whether or not I should feel guilty for these last minute “lapses.” And I choose not to feel guilty… for today, at least.
So today I’m letting go of something I’ve often held onto too tightly: that desire for perfection, and that sense of disappointment when I inevitably fail to miss that mark.
I think it’s safe to say I can do without those feelings, if only for today.