You see that big, fat crack on our Nest thermostat? Well I do.
Every. Damn. Day.
Our dear friend (and realtor) Jen helped us to purchase our condo last year when we moved back home. As a house-warming gift she generously gave us a Nest thermostat, which Tom installed immediately. As I was moving boxes from the living room to the spare bedroom I miscalculated how much space I had to maneuver around the piles of stuff in our hallway. Trying to squeeze through a too-tight opening, I scraped a massive crack along our precious Nest with the box I was carrying.
Yes, as ashamed as I am to admit it, I definitely cried about the fact that I’d “ruined” our perfect, brand-new thermostat. And that right there is my problem folks. If there’s a scratch, it’s ruined. If there’s a dent, might as well throw it away. If it’s not perfect, it’s of no use to me.
I don’t like this about myself. I can’t stand that my instincts are so black and white. Granted, after some time passes I usually come to appreciate these imperfections in my life. Or at least accept them. But the truth is my initial gut reaction is still the same, warped one it always has been. IT HAS TO BE PERFECT. Pristine.
I work on it. Tom helps me. When I track mud in the house on accident he reminds me we want a home well-lived-in, not a sterile space. I challenge myself to accept life’s imperfections. That’s part of the reason I started this blog. And there has been progress. Take for instance last Sunday when I was sitting on our less-than-one-year-old leather couch and dropped my entire cup on coffee on it. I had a flutter of my gut reaction (read: PANIC) but then it was gone. I got up, got some towels, cleaned it up, and remembered this is exactly why we chose leather instead of fabric in the first place. No harm done. There’s not even a stain.
Sounds like there is hope for me yet.