I'm not very good at this lately. And the thing is I miss it.
I have a confession. At least I think it's a confession. It might just be more than you wanted to know.
I have decided that my non-perfectionist traits are actually a blessing in disguise. Did you know that about me? I'm the farthest thing from a perfectionist. I'm the queen of: "Eh, that's good enough." Which is why there are paint drips on my wall, why the shelf is just the tiniest bit crooked, why my metal star decoration is unevenly gilttered. It's also why my end table is covered in a layer of dust, the bathroom sink is covered in a layer of toothpaste and the kitchen counter is covered in, well, everything that doesn't really have a place. But here's the thing: I'm really not that stressed about it. You know those people who are like, "I just can't sleep unless my house is clean." That's totally not me. My house is never clean. And I'm really okay with that. It's just taken me a while to be able to say that.
And it feels pretty good too.