Some days I wake up and I think that I have to save the world. Or that I need to write the great novel. Or at least have a blog good enough to receive 20+ comments. Or that I must do crafts with my kids. Or create magical experiences day in and day out. Or use the same safe cleaners that Jessica Alba uses. Or wear the same shoes as Gwen Stefani. The thought sometimes whispers, but most the time shouts, don’t be ordinary. Ordinary isn’t perfect. Ordinary isn’t good enough.
As I was reading Brene Brown’s book, The Gift of Imperfection, I read this line and had one of those moments where I couldn’t catch my breath and I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing: What if we’re normal and quiet and happy? Does that count?
What if I don’t save the world, but I save my family? I focus on my tiny, ordinary family of five and make sure that everyone feels love, feels joy and is happy. Why isn’t that enough? Is that even ordinary? When I stop and think about it, I actually think THAT is extraordinarily ordinary.
What if I just keep writing my blog because I want to? I started my blog to provide hope to those who have ths same diagnosis as Olivia. I didn’t start it to get 20+ comments or have people love it. I wrote it because I felt like my daughter’s story was worth sharing. Isn’t that enough?
What if, at the end of my life, all you can say about me is that I was a good wife who loved her husband and he loved me back? Or that I was a good mother who loved her kids and they knew it every day of their lives? Or that we had a family who felt worthy and loved and full of joy? Isn’t that enough?
To me, that doesn’t sound ordinary. It sounds like exactly what I’m trying to do with my life. It’s so easy to lose sight of what are true goals are in life. To just be. And to love. And to experience and share joy. And that’s enough. Even if it’s ordinary.