My house is a mess. This is the view of my dining room table. What you can't see are boxes of ornaments for the Christmas tree that's up but only strung with lights; stockings, and other decorations for our house that are still not up; and the scuba equipment that's "still drying" over by the front door, waiting for a place to be cleared out in the garage.
It wouldn't be so bad except this is the same view that my massage therapy clients and in-person coaching clients see as they head up the stairs to my office.
I should be embarrassed.
Earlier today, as I looked down at the mess from the stairs, I remembered when my kids were in elementary school, their teachers would ask, "Is this your personal best?" The phrase came home from school with them and I adopted it as my own. When the laundry wasn't done, everybody was hungry (including me) and dinner was far from being ready, and the house smelled like cat pee because no one (me) had cleaned it out in a long while, I'd shout out loud to no one in particular: "This is what my personal best looks like."
I'm reviving this phrase and using it as my mantra from now until well into the New Year.
This is what my personal best looks like:
• I'm not happy with the gifts I bought for my teenage nephews. I could purchase gift cards from Amazon and send them off in addition to the already-mailed presents to make me feel better. But I'm not going to. The gifts are imperfect but given with love.
This is what my personal best looks like:
• I'm struggling with the internal upheaval after an interaction with a mom of one of my sons didn't go well - at all. Another mom offered to have us all over for pizza to talk it out. I wanted to be the kind of person who was ready and eager for diving in and fixing things, but I'm not, especially right before Christmas. I don't have any extra inner strength for that. I suggested a date in 2018. Maybe I'll be ready then.
This is what my personal best looks like:
• I feel pulled in so many different directions. Jennifer Senior, author of All Joy and No Fun: The Paradox of Modern Parenthood calls this feeling contaminated time. When I'm with my kids, I'm thinking about marketing the new infant massage class, renewing our health insurance, researching dog training for the not-quite housebroken new dog, numbly watching coverage of the s*!t show in Washington, and trying to finish a giant pile of chores and obligations that need to be crammed into whatever time is available. And when I'm working, I'm feeling guilty about not being available for dinner with my kids, not remembering to ask one of them about his math test, and having my attention be not quite there when I am there.
My goal is to be fully present for what is right in front of me, whether it's a tight trapezius muscle on a massage therapy client or my son explaining the piece he'll need to play for his placement test in January.
My life looks messy. Most days it feels that way, too. But I'm doing my personal best.
It wouldn't be so bad except this is the same view that my massage therapy clients and in-person coaching clients see as they head up the stairs to my office.
I should be embarrassed.
Earlier today, as I looked down at the mess from the stairs, I remembered when my kids were in elementary school, their teachers would ask, "Is this your personal best?" The phrase came home from school with them and I adopted it as my own. When the laundry wasn't done, everybody was hungry (including me) and dinner was far from being ready, and the house smelled like cat pee because no one (me) had cleaned it out in a long while, I'd shout out loud to no one in particular: "This is what my personal best looks like."
I'm reviving this phrase and using it as my mantra from now until well into the New Year.
This is what my personal best looks like:
• I'm not happy with the gifts I bought for my teenage nephews. I could purchase gift cards from Amazon and send them off in addition to the already-mailed presents to make me feel better. But I'm not going to. The gifts are imperfect but given with love.
This is what my personal best looks like:
• I'm struggling with the internal upheaval after an interaction with a mom of one of my sons didn't go well - at all. Another mom offered to have us all over for pizza to talk it out. I wanted to be the kind of person who was ready and eager for diving in and fixing things, but I'm not, especially right before Christmas. I don't have any extra inner strength for that. I suggested a date in 2018. Maybe I'll be ready then.
This is what my personal best looks like:
• I feel pulled in so many different directions. Jennifer Senior, author of All Joy and No Fun: The Paradox of Modern Parenthood calls this feeling contaminated time. When I'm with my kids, I'm thinking about marketing the new infant massage class, renewing our health insurance, researching dog training for the not-quite housebroken new dog, numbly watching coverage of the s*!t show in Washington, and trying to finish a giant pile of chores and obligations that need to be crammed into whatever time is available. And when I'm working, I'm feeling guilty about not being available for dinner with my kids, not remembering to ask one of them about his math test, and having my attention be not quite there when I am there.
My goal is to be fully present for what is right in front of me, whether it's a tight trapezius muscle on a massage therapy client or my son explaining the piece he'll need to play for his placement test in January.
My life looks messy. Most days it feels that way, too. But I'm doing my personal best.
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