Being Good-ish

It's not being perfect. It's barely being good

Good-ish.

I adopted this as my mantra last year.

Good-ish is not perfect. Hell, it’s not even good. It’s kinda sorta good. Like, “it’ll do” good.

I am working on being good-ish. Or, you can say I am being good-ish about being good-ish.

The meaning of Good-ish changes day to day for me, like my preference for hot water in the shower. Some days, I need it to be scalding hot, and some days, tepid.

It slides and sways, depending on the kind of day I am having. How much energy is left in my body after all the chores and tidying up, picking up kids from school, and Uber-ing them to their respective activities.

The high achiever in me gets mad, she can’t bear it. “Blasphemy!” she screams. But good-ish feels soooo good. It feels pretty darn perfect, to be honest.

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Yesterday, for dinner, I made fish tacos. I grilled the tilapia. Then, I grilled Poblano Peppers. I diced the peppers to remove the seeds. I squeezed half a lemon on the grilled fish and peppers. I was tired. It had been a long day. The avocados were right there. Inches away from me. I could have picked one, diced it, and added it to the tacos to make the meal healthier and more wholesome. I chose good-ish instead.

Funny thing, no one complained. No one even noticed.

Good-ish makes me rest more. Good-ish makes me ask for more help. Even on stuff that I can very easily do myself but rather not.

Good-ish gets me out of the bra (heaven!) and in my PJs at 5:30 pm on most days.

Good-ish makes me less weird about dirty floors and unmade beds. And most importantly good-ish makes me put myself first. 

I used to be the “perfect” one.

Dishes done.

Beds made.

Laundry kept back in the closets. 

All this happened before 9 am, but I was so tired by 9:15. One day, as I carried dirty laundry from my room to the washing machine, I thought to myself, “I am wasting all this precious energy first thing in the morning by doing chores.”

No one cares. The kids are in school. They do not care about clean sinks and floors so sparkly they can see their reflection in them. My husband knows no difference.

The dog. Well, the dog loves to sit on the fresh laundry anyway.

No one is coming to grade me on my home cleanliness. All my friends are most likely also doing the same exact thing I am doing at the moment. Carrying dirty laundry from the room to the washing machine. Unloading and unloading the dishwasher.

Why am I doing this? What am I doing all this for?

Mornings, my brain is fresh. Especially after my cup of elixir. It’s ready to play ping pong with me. I say ping, and it’s got to say pong. It works with me. It doesn’t become that deranged, irritated version of me, who’s bone tired and languishing in the fact that yet another day of my life slipped away from my hands, scrubbing floors, and washing dirty dishes.

Enters Good-ish.

Laundry waits. The beds are unmade. The sink is dirty.

I get fed first. My soul. My brain. My body.

I write. I go for a run. I eat breakfast. I meet a friend for coffee.

I write poetry as the dishes pile up in the sink. I cook boxed mac and cheese and watch Star Wars with my boys. I go to bed at 9 pm.

My house is not clean most days. The laundry is piled up on the shelf inside my closet, in the same place I keep my dirty, sweaty running clothes, I can’t tell what’s clean and what’s dirty.

It’s not perfect. My life. Me. This whole way of living.

It’s Good-ish.

Sometimes, I wonder if creating a persona of a “high-achieving, perfectionist career woman and a badass lasagna-making soccer mom” was yet another ploy by Patriarchy to keep women distracted and away from using our power, courage, and smarts?

If we women have been chasing a ghost that did not exist, could not exist? If the real power was not in being perfect but in being good-ish?

The darn fish taco gave me a tummy ache all night, and I couldn’t get a good night's rest. I am yawning as I write this. The perfectionist in me wants to write more to convince you why I think good-ish should be your mantra too……but I think you know what I mean.

You think about that word while I take a nap.

Good-ish

😉

Deepshikha