Good enough

Nora Roberts once said (I’m paraphrasing from a paraphrased meme), that to juggle a lot of things at once, you have to be well aware of which balls are made of plastic, and which ones are made of glass, because it’s better to drop the ones that won’t break.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately, with now two (!) parents needing much support, and other family members leaning more on Kerri and me for extra help.  It’s a juggling challenge that’s tough because it’s about more than just juggling time and brain power—this is about hearts and souls, too.

I swear our new home motto is “it is what it is,” we say it so much. Also, Kerri’s favourite (which I also love): “The only way out is through!”  It’s our trying-to-muster-up-enthusiasm-but-not-quite-succeeding battle cry. But it helps, because it reminds me, every time, that some things are unavoidable, like having to actually finish books to meet deadlines.

Anyway, back to family for a sec, before linking this to writing.

I have these visions of what an excellent daughter would do. It involves way more cooking and cleaning than I ever care to do, thankyouverymuch.

But I know what a “good enough” daughter would do. She’d visit a reasonable amount (as decided per said Good Enough Daughter). She’d pick up the phone most times it rings (not while writing). She’d help organize medical appointments and stuff that a parent now finds challenging. She’d try to keep an eye on mental health and unspoken needs, as much as possible.

The rest? The extra bits? Well, because she’d good enough and comfortable with it, she’d try to get someone else to do it. Or, maybe, she’d see (as would her family) that some things are actually not necessary. She’d learn to let her expectations of perfection go.

(I don’t need to cook because Meals on Wheels exists, okay? It’s good enough.)

Good. Enough.

We don’t celebrate good enough, but we should. Good enough means you showed up, and left before you burned. Good enough means you’re still tackling the issue, without needing to be the hero, or even the main character. It means you’re comfy with a supporting cast credit (beloved supporting cast, no doubt!). You’re doing what needs doing, but not trying to fix what can’t be.

Good enough is sustainable. Excellent isn’t. Perfect isn’t even a thing. But good enough? That sucker can be done over and over again. Trust me, it’s what I’ve been subsisting on for over a year!

I drop balls all the time. Most are plastic though. A few glass ones, sure, but some stuff has to break. You shed a tear or two, and you grab that broom and sweep the shards away before they cut you (if it involved a person ball, that usually means writing a sincere apology email, not expecting an answer (no one owes you that), and moving on as best you can).

My writing takes three more passes lately to go from “good enough” to “I really like this” (it’s up to each reader to decide if it’s excellent).  To get to “I really like this,” I need more time, because my brain is so busy parsing too much (have I mentioned I leave my phone upstairs when I’m writing? I should mention it now. That sucker likes the sound of its own buzzing lately).

So each story takes a bit more time, a bit more brain power, which means I have to be “good enough” other places to get to “I really like this” in writing.

Brain power. That’s a thing, eh? Like, you’ve got a thousand things pulling you in a thousand different directions…how do you keep some brainpower for writing?

Well, not always. And that’s okay, too. Sometimes, I just sit down (to keep my butt used to my chair and my brain in the story), get a few words in, make some notes, and then that’s good enough for the writing. I try to do it daily, simply so I don’t forget writing exists (I do have many deadlines, after all), and then I “good enough” it.

It’s all good enough. Can’t walk five days a week because I’m juggling too many things? That ball is made of rubber because it keeps bouncing back. Can’t meet all deadlines? Some of those are made of glass—gotta choose carefully. Let only the plastic or rubber ones drop (I love the rubber ones).

Sometimes, I forget I can choose some of those balls, too. I can help someone in ways that work best for me, instead of just going with everyone else’s plan. I don’t need to just follow along—I can choose my own balls.

I don’t say yes to every client and project. I know which ones resonate with me and my style. Even with parents needing extra support—I’ve got a really good family, so we negotiate who can do what when, in the hopes that no one takes too big a hit (burnout is bad, bleeding from hits is also bad).  

With writing, I can “good enough” it for a while. If I stick to “good enoughing it” long enough, I’ll actually get to “I really like this,” sometimes as though by accident. (It’s not. It’s just because I worked on it all this time, and eventually that rough little ball turned into an unbreakable diamond.)

But “I really like this” doesn’t happen without many “good enough” days.  Even keeping loved ones in one piece (one could argue a tougher thing to do, but there’s way more support for that than for writing, gotta say) can be maintained with a bunch of “good enoughs” all lined up in a (kinda) row.

You’re probably juggling a thousand things right now. Here’s my two bits of wisdom: Good enough as many as you can. They won’t all turn to diamonds. They won’t all sparkle. Some of them, you’ll drop on purpose—try to drop the plastic and rubber ones.

If you “good enough” enough of them, your load might feel a little lighter, even the words, because the path to “I really like this” is riddled with “good enough” days.

Cheering you on, always!

xo