In my quest to figure myself out (there's always more to know, you know?) I've been learning it's OK to just be, in all my imperfections. Take my brisket (please) for example. I pride myself on thirty years of making Mother-in-law's recipe, twice a year, with great success. And I don't even eat it. I have no idea what happened this year, but it was dry and not at all the fall-apart-goodness that everyone loves.
In the scheme of life this is so small, yet for me it seemed a monumental fail! And when Husband brought ketchup to the table, well, enough said.
Aren't we all just looking to feel happy in our own way, on our own terms? Not that I was counting on my brisket skills for that. Learning to let go and move on is key, I tell everyone else!
I've tried to let this attitude spill over into other areas of my life. I decide how much time to spend, say writing. Whether it's 10 minutes or 60. If that's the time I can focus, well, good enough. If I have the yen to cook, then no apologies for shifting to the kitchen. And if a call comes from Daughter to meet with the boys for ice cream or the park, then that's where I'm headed.
I've spent a better part of my life berating myself for my failures. Life is too short to purposely fill it with anything other than what brings you contentment. And as for the brisket, which I reheated in it's tomatoey sauce, hoping for redemption, Passover Seder was wonderfully noisy, lively and we all left the table full and happy as could be. And isn't that the point?
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