A “deal” with “ideal”

Writing has been hard today. The words haven’t been flowing. I write in spurts and starts. Type here. Hit delete. Then backspace, backspace, backspace. If I had been writing on paper, I think there’d be a huge pile of crumpled-up pieces of paper in the wastepaper basket.

So, I take a break. For 5 minutes. Then I go back to it.

More constipated writing.

Finally, after too many more huge sighs, I decide to go fold laundry.

But I am soooo irked.

I hate it when things don’t just flow. When I can’t cross things off my to-do list as “finished.” I’m not great with “process,” which is usually messy, and even though I know that, I still can’t seem to accept it. And for some reason, when things are unfinished, imperfect or a little messy, I feel uneasy. Restless. I feel kind of mad at myself. For not accomplishing more. For not being more.

But as I fold a pair of my husband’s underwear, I suddenly remember an Instagram post my friend wrote this morning. She called herself an “idealist at heart” and it suddenly hits me: Here I am again, being mad at myself for not accomplishing “the ideal.” My idealist heart was running the roost today and I needed to recognize that.

I run to my room and grab a post-it note that I have taped to my mirror and read it to myself:

“In a life where the real self is loved and accepted, it can be encouraged to grow toward the ideal. In a life where standards are accepted and cherished as goals and our true self is accepted and loved, there will be peace and growth.”

For some reason, recognizing my “idealist heart” helps me to relax. It makes me accept the messy of my day. Today, I make a deal with “Ideal.” I will recognize it, but I will accept my real self—my messy, imperfect, not-done-yet self.

And I feel a bit of peace.