Life is just fucking impossible.

Tell me if you recognize this:

You answered 847 emails today, but the 848th person is mad.

You got the laundry sorted, washed, dried, and folded– but then someone spilled chocolate syrup into the laundry basket.

You remembered 18,742 things about the crazy project, but you forgot one little detail.  One!  (Your boss mentions your oversight in the company-wide meeting.)

You plan the perfect wedding, but afterward you can’t stop wondering about that weird toast your new brother-in-law made.

You make the tricky new recipe– the one that cleverly disguises its healthy ingredients– and your husband says, “Could you just pick up fried chicken instead?”

You just found a gray hair, the dog has worms, the partners are having a secret meeting, and your babysitter up and quit.

Sound familiar?

Welcome to humanity!  Ding ding ding!!  You win the prize!!!!    

It’s a mess in here.  Heartbreak, disappointment, and various forms of stickiness seem to be an inevitable part of the deal.  We can’t please someone, even though we’re dancing as fast as we can.   We can’t follow through on all the commitments we make, even though we’re working our asses off.  Even with all that effort, striving, and angst, we still can’t seem to get it right.

As I see it, you have three choices:

1.  You can try harder.  (Were you trying hard already?  Then the only thing left to do is drugs.  I hear meth is fun.)

2.  You can stop trying.  (Mediocre dreams are ok, right?  Shoot low, baby.)

3.  You can embrace the mess.  

I recommend this third option, if only because your life is so much nicer when it’s not on fire.

Here are some ways to embrace your life:

 

• Laugh. 
• Cry. 
• Swear. 
• Call a friend and bitch and moan. 
• Make a cup of tea. 
• Make a list. 
• Make a declaration.  
• Take a nap. 
• Take a walk. 
• Take a breath. 

 

Decide that you’re going to squeeze every luscious drop out of this life, in all its mess and glory.

Stop waiting for it to be perfect.  Go ahead and grab the bits of beauty floating between the catastrophes.  Snap that photo of your beloved even if she’s going to have a temper tantrum ten seconds later.  Declare dominion over your own reality, and let everyone else get to have theirs too.  Learn to take care of yourself even if no one else thinks it’s important.  Close the door, put your hand on your heart, and decide that you’ll try again tomorrow.

Tuck these impossible little moments away and tell them around the campfire of your heart, where the blaze is always burning and someone’s got an acoustic guitar.

All the great art, the best memories, and the most hilarious stories are born out of the small disasters of our lives.  It’s our raw material.

You get to shape it into whatever you want.




P.S.  Speaking of catastrophes, I’m doing a free call this month for people who left a religious faith and found something beautiful they don’t have words for–

Goats Go To Heaven:  Spirit for the Post-Religious. 

If that’s you, come join me.  If not, no worries, I’ll see you here next week– same time, same place.

Disasters, glory, and all.