Lisa notes

It happened again. My dream. I have it while awake. And Saturday night I had it again while asleep: the dream that she walks back through our front door.

But as always, I wake up. And she hasn’t walked through the door after all.

I saw this quote on Instagram this weekend:

“If you simply can’t understand why someone is grieving so much, for so long, then consider yourself fortunate that you do not understand.”

Unfortunately, I understand such grief. On intense grief days, I wonder if it will ever get easier, lighter. If grief is ever finished.

But I’ve lived enough to know that grief has no definite timeline. That it can’t be rushed. That it will take as long as it takes.

That doesn’t mean I like it. Or, on many days, even accept it. I often still fight against it. I rail against this heavy grief, even though these wrestlings never help.

On those days, I try to give myself grace. I say these words from Martha Whitmore Hickman,

“I will not further burden myself by trying to fit some image of a ‘model griever.’ The strength I have is the strength to be myself.”

Even if this version of myself isn’t the me I want to be, it is the me that I am. She deserves my love and compassion.

It helps to remember I’m not the only one grieving today. All around the world, at this very second, there are millions of people who are grieving their own losses. And some people in my own small circle, too. We cry together. When life is hard, we normalize that it’s human to feel sad.

Dag Hammarskjöld once said,

“Life only demands from you the strength you possess. Only one feat is possible—not to have run away.”

So I even though I’d rather not still be grieving, I try not to run away from it. It’s stuck to me like glue anyway.

Vicki Harrison sums it up like this:

“Grief is like the ocean; it comes on waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim.”

I swim another day.

Are you grieving a loss today, too? We can grieve together. Share your thoughts in the comments.

Am I a perfectionist? I didn’t think so. But when I misspelled Grammys as Grammies in a text to my friend last weekend, I couldn’t shake it.

“I set the DVR for the Grammies at 7, so come over whenever!”

It lingered in my mind long after I hit send. Should I correct it? Maybe follow up with a playful, self-aware text with a laughing face emoji, proving that I do, in fact, know the proper plurality of Grammy is Grammys?

I almost sent the follow-up text. More than once.

But then, I remembered something I’d read last week in a newsletter by Oliver Burkeman about the 70% rule—about how a 70% readiness is fine to put most things into the world, even if they feel unfinished, imperfect, or below our best. That idea stuck with me so much that I had actually written back to Burkeman (which I rarely do) applauding his work. (He even wrote me back—I’d say he went above 70% on that one.)

I’m currently making my way through Burkeman’s small book, Meditation for Mortals (25% so far), reading 1 chapter a day for the 28 days of February, even though it doesn’t feel like the perfect time to do so. I read his Four Thousand Weeks (all 100% of it) in 2021 (see my review here: “How to Win Your Fight with Time”) and it profoundly impacted me about the truth that I’ll never win my struggle with time, so just use this minute well instead.

But despite all that reflection, here I am, unable to let go of a minor spelling mistake in a casual text.

Why? Maybe because it’s uncomfortable to release things into the world that feel flawed. I don’t want to look foolish. Or lazy. Or even careless. I’d rather be perceived as smart and industrious and put-together.

But really? Are those my actual goals in life? And do those goals include proving I’m a flawless speller?

When I think about this hard enough—about my writing or anything else—I know those aren’t my goals at all. My goals are to live my values.

And those values include loving people, intentionally being kind and respectful, living at peace (as much as I can), and being compassionate with myself when I do it all imperfectly.

Perfect spelling is not on my values list.

So even though this blog post doesn’t feel quite finished to me—maybe I could share another anecdote, edit each word a bit more, restructure the arguments more logically—I’m going to take Burkeman’s advice and launch it into the world at feeling 70% ready instead of not sending it at all.

Not because I’m settling for less. But because I want to live more.

If the goal is to do the thing—to show up, to participate, to contribute—then done is not only good enough, it is perhaps even better than perfect.

Getting to perfect takes too long. It holds me back. But 70% allows me to engage right now, to put myself out here as I am today, flaws and all.

I’m not working for an A+ (even though I do love those, not gonna lie). Instead, I’m living for meaning, for connection, for purpose. And that doesn’t require perfect spelling.

The text was sent. The message was received. My goal was met.

Does this resonate with you? Are you a recovering perfectionist, too? Share your thoughts in the comments.