On my path of continued personal development -- no, really, stop laughing! -- I'm making an effort right now, like a fellow friend of mine, to let go of imperfection. I bought a book, I'm journal-ing and I'm attempting to process the hang-ups that give me that "deer in headlights" look as I scramble to do every task, for every project, in every aspect of my life, 100 percent up to snuff -- or, perhaps even 150 percent (you know, to make it truly special).
As I journey, I wanted to share one small hang-up: The need to send mail from my own ZIP code. That's right: Letters, notes, checks from me to you, dear readers, loved ones and processing centers, get stuck in my laptop bag because I get to work, go to drop them in our outgoing mailbox and then think, "Wait! I should send these from closer to home, so they'll get stamped with the right ZIP code." The mail then goes back into my bag and accompanies me home, where a vicious cycle begins: I promptly forget to drop the envelopes nearby, find them in my bag the next day at the office and then begin the process again, sometimes repeating several days in a row.
As if any of you -- the people who read my notes, call to thank me for birthday cards or cash my checks -- actually gave a thought to where, exactly, my correspondence originated.
Today, I've made a commitment to break this one tiny vicious cycle. When I arrived at the office this morning, I took my letters straight out of my bag, sealed them up and walked them over to the outgoing mailbox. Sure, the ZIP code will be one digit off from mine -- but the timing will be all right. And in the case of mail, that's often what truly matters.
That's one small step for sanity -- and, I'm hoping, one giant step toward self-acceptance.
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