From the wallow-y depths of the chair I read, I looked at pinterest, I drank copious amounts of coffee with coconut whipped cream. I talked to my husband, I updated my website. I played with my puppy. In the evening we watched the double header of the greatest show on earth; The Great British Baking Show. I didn't clean my house or get things organized post-event like I was inclined to. I didn't begin to review and evaluate footage from the weekend, or plan my week, like I often do on Sundays. Aside from feeding my sweet husband, I did nothing.
Not even post to my blog, although I've committed to post every day for 90 days.
I find I'm okay with it. The point of taking on a challenge where I have to post so frequently, aside form the habit it creates, is the necessity of letting perfectionism go. Perfectionism is the enemy of consistency. It's the enemy of success. Excellence, effort, discipline - those things are needful and good. But perfectionism is rooted in pride and insecurity.
Maybe I've beaten my head against this wall enough times that I'm finally accepting the idea of balance and rest as necessary to achievement. Maybe I'm finally understanding how I can succeed at the point of a goal even if I don't execute the practice of it perfectly.
And where, in the past, a failure to be exactly correct would make me want to throw in the towel on the whole thing, or try to fudge like I hadn't even made an omission, well...
Today, I'm here. I was tempted to write something and back-date it, but I'm not going to do that, either.
This is what it is and what it is is enough.