The end of perfectionism

Simple gifts, tradition, speeding up & slowing down

Sun streams in the living room haloing the plants and now-mostly empty Easter baskets. The kids are at the dining table drawing and sharpening colored pencils.

I Cover the Waterfront plays as undercurrent, and as soon as I wonder what covers the waterfront, the answer surfaces: The sparkle, shine, light of the sun, moon, dark moon, stars, city lights all twinkling and stirring to varying degrees.

The thing about unanswerable questions, is that the answers that move within us are right.

Not right in that bloodthirsty sense of right v wrong, of perfectionist nervous systems wired by fear of failure.

Just right in the sense of simply what’s alive for us in a given moment: Illuminating the sensitivity we’ve learned to tune out or cover up, because, as children, our inner knowing was deemed socially unacceptable, unpalatable & inconvenient, more often than not.

Anyway, I could leave it here, an idyllic image of my perfect little family.

But the whole picture is: The kids are fighting at the table, quietly seething around a fertile centerpiece of flowers, lit candles and dyed eggs.

The oldest won’t share his new colored pencils, which were in his basket, because he’d share them, right? He’s self-aware enough to say, “In a couple days I probably won’t care, but for today, I want to enjoy these as just mine.”

Well, who can blame him there? In his mind, the younger two have a reputation of making a mess of things. And this newly teen child is burgeoning into a sense of order and cleanliness. He wants his things cared for to his standard of care. 

(Don’t we all? Let’s forgo judgments of who has the ‘higher’ standards, shall we?)

So the younger two are left with the special new pencil sharpener sharpening old pencil nubs while they look on, as their brother’s map drawing takes terrain.

Our traditions are pretty simple and relaxed, which is good, because I wasn’t prepared this year. Life has sped up to the level of spaghettification. I’m in this rebirth portal (again) of eclipse season, and it’s been intense.

In the sidereal zodiac, the April 8 total solar eclipse is happening in my moon of Pisces, which is on the axis of my Virgo ascendent and Rahu/Ketu. All the karmic stuff is coming up. All the deepest rooted samskaras, layers of conditioning and lessons meant for me are here, right now. It’s not as gentle as I’d wish it.

If you’re curious about what this eclipse may be bringing up for you in the coming months, I offer 1:1 Vedic astrology readings. Understanding the energies in what we’re going through helps us navigate turbulent waters with more elegance. We can use the times as a catalyst for further growth and self-discovery rather than resisting the current and generating more suffering.

In simplest terms, this is a time of shedding layers, so we may be reborn, lighter & lighter still for having faced the darkness within. Dark is just another expression of light. Don’t dis the dark that makes the light visible to begin with. This is the invitation of every waking day.

The night before Easter, the kids put out their baskets—whatever baskets we happen to have around the house—and line the basket with a play silk. They place our handmade felt Easter eggs in there, to be filled. 

The traditions have evolved over the years—as traditions do—and as the kids have grown. Early on, I gathered the baskets and decorated them with the silks and eggs. Now the kids prep the baskets, and I impatiently wait for them to go to bed so I can fill them, and go to bed myself. (Now that I go to sleep earlier, several times a year, I wonder how much longer I can keep this up.)

This year, I made a centerpiece for the table. We couldn’t find our felt eggs, so we used felt hearts. I wrap raisins and chocolate in paper or foil before putting them inside the felt pockets. That’s the candy, and it’s been the same for 10 years now. There’s a sweetness in the un-fancy consistency of it—tradition.

Simple gifts are the sweetest gifts. We don’t have to try so hard. Perfection is both an illusion and all there ever is.

It’s our interpretation of perfection and the way we bulletpoint it in some approval-seeking resume that warps, corrodes, and pollutes.

"Simple Gifts” has been our winter/spring circle time song, sung a few times a month at least. After I introduced this song to our rhythm, my oldest started playing it on the violin. His whole class will be playing it in the concert a couple weeks from now.

’Tis a gift to be simple, ‘tis a gift to be free.

'Tis a gift to come round where we ought to be.

And when we find ourselves in the place just right,

We will be in the valley of love and delight.

When true simplicity is gained,

To bow and to bend we will not be ashamed,

To turn and to turn will be our delight,

Till by turning and turning we come 'round right.

By the end of this morning’s serpentine trail of events, all the kids drew with new pencils. All I did was excuse myself and let them be, holding space from a distance.

May today be filled with simple gifts, a softened heart, and appreciation of the perfectly imperfect perfect in whatever terrain the moment takes.

All my love,
Heather