Most days I am too distracted or too tired or just too uninterested in soul searching. I know that if I sit and reflect upon my life, I will be discontented (or worse) with myself. Oh, not in my life — most days I float along, content.  But when I take a look at myself, I know that I am not living my life, giving to my life, creating the home, the parent, the wife, the cook, the gardener, the friend that I want to be. I buy hordes of books on various topics. I formulate grand plans. I make lists, which I somehow expect to resolve full bloom into results.Â
This year for New years I consolidated piles of my lists into my Grand Plan (It’s the mother of all lists – a five page list of lists). And my resolution focused more on spending some time every day working on something on the list. And in truth, I’ve done a better job at that than I might have expected. I comb through it every week or so and cross off the items that I’ve manged to conquer. But its a slow process, and it’s difficult to be patient with myself.Â
I don’t have to be perfect. I don’t have to be a Martha Stewart, a Katie Brown, or even a SouleMama. I don’t need to live as though every single moment is elevated, sacred. But I am tired of living as though no moment is.