The truth is: life is imperfect.
The truth is: every day is not an inspired work of art.
I shared a shadow with you this week and you embraced it – and me – for the raw truth of that story. For it's honest imperfection.
Because of course I struggle – just like you. Of course my life is not all moonbeams and elderberries. It's messy. Like yours.
And while I feel this is a place to celebrate all this is wonderful and all that is working, sometimes it's it serves us all if I show you the messes too.
This morning I wanted a photograph of my new tea cup (my crazy favorite cup of all time for obvious reasons), a gift from Pete this solstice. But the background of my real life kept getting in the way. Dirty dishes, dirty windows, dirty floors.
And then I realized – maybe that's the point. The balance of beauty and imperfection. Hell, maybe they are the same thing.
Because finding so much to marvel at in an imperfect world is more inspiring to me than anybody's perfection.
So today's imperfection means that we're playing hooky. We're leaving the dishes in the sink and heading miles down the road to who-knows-where. We'll ditch this farm and take a "Mystery Friday" trip somewhere.
More honesty: that destination will surely involve a thrift store. Or two.
Because yes – it's okay to lower my standards now and again and just be me.
Perfectly imperfect me.
P.S. See that white binder on the cabinet above? That's my book. I dug it out of the basement this morning. Oh, yes. It's time to get to it.