Good enough

Everything I've posted on this blog has been new writing. I am about to make an exception: the following is something I wrote in late November, 2006. I've not shared it widely because this one was a little more attached to me than others that I've written.

But, it's about that time ... I'm ready to share.
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I believe that good enough … is good enough.

I believe we need to learn to relish moments when we are who we truly are and celebrate what is. Enjoy the expansion of now-ness, not because we don’t want to get better but because we’re already good. Enough.

As a three-year-old, my daughter oozed self-confidence. She could spell and write her name, identify colors, reenact her favorite Pooh Bear tales. She couldn’t tie her shoelaces then, but if asked, she’d say, “My mommy says I’ll know how to tie them when I’m four.”

Her early sense of certainty excited me. Her sense of worth warmed me.

And then it happened, on schedule, the start of the teenage era – one marked with mood swings, self-doubt and identity crises that fuel constant social ‘fine-tuning’ – all in the name of normalcy.

Instead of her stuffed animal, it’s an eyeliner that’s missing. Forget the questionable values of the Bratz dolls, she’s moved on to Mom-it’s-just-a-picture-of-a-grenade Green Day. As mother of a teenager, my world was forced open to take in information on anything from teenage dating to eating disorders, depression …

And, suicide.

Two months ago, I lost a friend whose life ended unexpectedly and needlessly. I still misplace minutes, thinking about the choices that led to her final decision. She was a spirit so strong and so respectful of life. She shared much about herself and what she was going through but gave no momentous indications of giving in, of giving up, of letting go.

And then, she left.

Her last words cast by the minister to the hundreds at her funeral, settled heavily on me, like a Technicolor metal net of purple guilt, black pain and tainted affection. Why couldn’t she see she was still whole, even when her life was falling to pieces; that she was still the beautiful soul, even when the ugliness had closed in on her? That she was, as she always has been, good enough?

Since then, my life’s scale of absolutes has gained another notch – a new truth my mind now has to afford. This I believe: The best gift I can give to my daughter this Christmas may not be the X-Box 360 she’s expecting or the Razr cellphone she’s not going to get. It’s a reminder – an affirmation – that she’s perfect the way she is. That I cannot love her anymore than I do now because she’s great just the way she is. Even when she hadn’t learned how to tie her shoelaces.

Especially when.

After all, there’s always time, someday, to make up that bunny with two ears, run it around the tree, jump it into a hole and close it up real tight to make an awesome bow. But for now, we need to tell ourselves, it’ll be there. And we will get to it.

Of course, I know, my daughter would rather the gifts but it’s okay. Because what is, is good enough.