Well Used Anyways

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"Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in."
 ~ Leonard Cohen, Anthem

Sometimes Most of the time, it doesn't get to be exactly what you want. Oh, it gets to be close to what you want. It can be most of what you want, but generally speaking, there's going to be that inch that you didn't expect or anticipate or want or need or whatthefuckever.

And I say: who cares.

I am very much a person that can be stopped in my tracks by what I perceive as a lack of perfection. I am that person that doesn't want people to visit my home because I haven't cleaned every surface free of dust, or because I don't have awesome snacks. I am that person that is so very anxious about having children, because so many things could go wrong or not be to my liking. I am that person that has awesome clothes in my closet that I rarely wear because I don't think my average day is a great enough occasion to warrant that awesomeness.

And that's not terribly participatory of me, is it? I find it to be somewhat withholding, at the very least. So I am beginning to get stains on the "nice" clothes on an average Saturday. I am having people over, apologizing for the mess once, and figuring that the people that matter will love me anyway. And if I end up being uptight again in a few months, that's just life, too, and perfectly ok. I'm sure I'll notice.

I am remembering.

It's all cracked, you see. We're all playing on the same game board, and we're all bumping up against one another and doing weird things and we all mess all of it up to a degree. And that's not only ok, it is perfectly right. We are only here for a short time; therefore, it is good to be reminded, on occasion, that there is a reason that we are here, and it is not to stiffly and formally fold ourselves up on a shelf, waiting for life to happen. We have come here to be alive, right now, just like this. We have come here to make Divine Mistakes That Are Also Answers. We have come to breathe and be present through the shit, the muck and the mire and to come out the other side. We have come to sing and to laugh and to cry and to fold up into the fetal position and rock ourselves to sleep. We have come to spill spaghetti sauce all over our nice dress on an average Wednesday and decide that spontaneity is for other people. We have come here to love, and to witness others in their weird humanness. We have come to do all of this, to be beautifully broken and well used anyways.

We have come to be danced. Never forget that.

So, my friends: remember, remember, remember.