So many of us try to live up to an impossible standard which is neither realistic, nor ultimately achievable. We spend our days striving to live up to something that is virtually impossible in so many senses of the word and in the process, many of us end up driving ourselves to the point of craziness. As I was stopping to take in the beauty of our rose garden yesterday afternoon, I was struck by the idea that no matter how hard we try to find or achieve it, there is no such thing as perfection. And as I sit here pondering the true meaning of the word "perfect", a certain sense of tension seeps into my muscles. I must admit that a single word can bring on these uncomfortable sensations. A single word, with seven little letters is able to bring on some very negative feelings in my body, and yet, I am not a perfectionist. Or at least I don't think that I am. Hence the title of my blog, Four Angels Momma (most days). For you see, I am a realist. I truly am. Not in the "keeping it real" sense for which so many blogs are noted, but in the "I know that life is tough, but I choose to enjoy as much of it as possible" sense. I may choose to view the world with a more positive spin, but the optimum word here is definitely "choose". In the Four Angels Momma household, we have as many issues going on throughout any given day, as the next family does. There are no perfect angels here, only real people living real lives while striving to evolve. There are no roses without thorns.
I discussed this idea with my dad about a month ago, when he suddenly discovered my blog. I knew something was up when he began referring to my daughters by number instead of name. I played along for a while until one day, I decided to let him know that I was on to the fact that he was on to me. He is a very smart man and there was never any reason for me to believe that he would not someday discover that his daughter(me) was writing a blog. It was just that it didn't matter whether he or anyone else I know personally, found out that I was keeping a blog. Mark and I sometimes refer friends and family members who live far away to my site as a way for them to check in when they want to. Most of them do not bother but that is okay, too. People's lives get very busy and sometimes they forget to think about those who are far away on a regular basis. The loss is not ours. But back to the idea of perfection and what that has to do with my father discovering my blog.
My father and I have a very open relationship when it comes to the truth, so when he found my blog, he asked me two things. One-"Where did all of the "airy-fairy" angel stuff come from in my describing my life?" and two-"Why in the heck am I not writing? No, really writing." Through some nervous giggles, I tried to answer him as best I could. I told him that I wasn't trying to be all "airy-fairy", but that I would never write anything about my family(on my blog)...my husband or my four daughters which would ever hurt, embarrass, or evade their privacy in a negative way. They all know that I keep this blog and they also read it, so anything that I publish here is meant for all of us, plus my wonderful readers and friends. My family is not perfect. My daughters are not always angels. They are normal, energetic, creative, transforming, active, growing, dependent, independent young women. What I admitted to my father is that what I have written here over the past couple of years is not about perfection or trying to portray my life as perfect. Anyone who has been reading here for a while or who has scrolled through some of my archives understands full well that I hold an honest and very raw perspective about life. My perspective comes from the side of the glass which I choose to focus on. The half-empty or the half-full side. You see, I know that the glass can often be viewed as half-empty. Much of my life has happened in an extended family which tends to focus on that very perspective. But for some strange reason, call it genetic-defect, call it God, call it airy-fairy, I have mostly focused on the fullness of life, rather than the emptiness. Nothing is ever perfect, but I have never, ever, ever seen a situation that could not be made better. A rosebush that did not improve with a bit of fertilizer, sunlight and water. An angel whose wings did not grow fuller and more beautiful with a bit of love, attention and support.
As for the second question that my dad asked me, as to why the heck I am not writing, the answer is still evolving. Inside of the answer lies something to do with fear, insecurity and more worries about perfection. Inside of the answer I can still hear the voices of non-supportive teachers, parents who were dealing with so many personal problems that they couldn't even see the gift that needed to be nurtured within their own daughter, and a quiet little girl who often did not feel worthy of being heard.
But as I grow, I allow my own inner-voice to speak out much more robustly. I understand that it is not only okay to live on the positive side of life, but that I like it here and I don't want to live anywhere else. I might not believe in perfection, but I damn well believe in goodness and transformation and striving to do more. I believe in roses, even though I know there are thorns. And I believe in angels even though I know there is gravity.My dad is a tough man, but he is also an incredible cheerleader. In so many ways, I am who I am because of him. A realist who chooses to believe that we can all do great things.
Strive to do something great. Not perfect, just fantastic.
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