This year, I want a good enough year. I’m not into resolutions. They suppose there is something to resolve, which implies something about our selves is wrong, not enough, marred and that we can fix it if we just try hard enough. Cue, resolutions: solutions to all the things that are wrong about us, solutions for a better year. Because this year wasn’t good enough? Over rated. I always wonder why people can’t instead, list all the awesome things and appreciate all the parts of themselves they love. No resolving, just reveling in something that seems kinda cool.
I quite possibly had one of the most shit-astic years I will ever have. And yet, it was good enough. My friends were not perfect, but they were good enough. Sometimes they would come with me to chemo, and they would cry through the whole treatment even though I was the one hooked up to poison, and sometimes they would say absolutely the wrong thing, and sometimes they would drop off the face of the earth when I needed them most. But sometimes they would wait with me for hours on doctors who were running late, and sometimes they would put up with my cranky illness, and sometimes they would take me out to lunch just because, and sometimes they’d show up with tea and cookies at the exactly right moment. They were most definitely good enough.
This year, I want to be filled with good enough. I want my good enough friends, and lots of them. I want good enough attempts at making new friends. I want good enough tries at being present for my friends as they navigate their own personal catastrophes. Everyone has them, you know. Catastrophes. Throughout New Years, I watched people I love dearly deal with violence and death and turmoil. For them, I want good enough. Not perfect, but good enough. Good enough tea when it’s really hard. Good enough companionship. Good enough decisions. Good enough sleep.
In 2014, I stared into the mirror and bemoaned my bald head. It did not feel good enough. But it was good enough, because it got me to 2015. It was good enough because I could disguise it, and I did when I felt like it and I didn’t when I didn’t feel like it, and it was good enough because eventually, my hair grew back. In 2014, they took my left tit away, and they didn’t discover a single screening mechanism or treatment that would make me totally, forever safe from dying of cancer. But they did what they could, and I was angry, and it wasn’t what I wanted, but it was good enough. I am still arguing with them about getting an MRI, and I’m not very good at advocating for myself anymore because I am tired, but I am doing good enough advocating, and I will get the screening I need, maybe, sometime, soon. Mammogram is not good enough, and it’s failed me already, and I need what is good enough, and an MRI is good enough. And between now and when my docs finally order my MRI, my good enough friends will help me strategize and eventually, I will get the good enough screening. It won’t be perfect, and it never will be. So I’m throwing perfect out the window.
I want good enough for us. Good enough work, good enough groceries, good enough yoga and good enough dreams. Good enough, good enough, good enough. It doesn’t have to be perfect, it doesn’t have to be what we imagined, it doesn’t have to be what we should do, or could do, or would do. It only has to be what is, and we have to be in the middle of it, doing yoga and sharing food and laughter and tears and going about our lives, each a day at a time, a moment at a time, knowing that whatever it is, it is good enough.
Here’s to 2015, a good enough year.