An old picture on my mom’s phone recently resurfaced in my family. In this picture stands a three-year-old me with a big, innocent smile, covered head to toe in mud, most likely from making mud pies. When I made mud pies as a child, I was not afraid of the mud. However, as I’ve grown, I’ve found myself identifying with a parental point of view, worrying myself over the mess and having to clean it up later. But why? What changed?
It was the end of my freshman year when I discovered my struggle with perfectionism. I had unattainable expectations of myself, but I intended to live every day to reach them anyway. I searched for fulfillment in an emptied to-do list.
One evening earlier this year, I had a particularly long to-do list. However, my sister was at home, so I sat and talked with her for a bit in order to check the newly added “spend time with my sister” box off of my list. I told her I had a lot of homework, so she wouldn’t ask me to do anything. I didn’t want to make a mess of my clean schedule. I decided to get started on some laundry, and after I brought a load downstairs, I heard my sister in the other room ask, "Hey, would you maybe wanna…oh nevermind you said you had homework.”
I felt a sting. After responding, “yeah,” I took shelter in my room. I felt horrible. I rummaged around my room for work to occupy my thoughts as persistent voices screamed arguments in my head, until everything went quiet. You will never feel satisfied if you are always trying to empty an ever-growing list.
I ran back downstairs. “Hey Em, when I get this laundry going, I’m gonna come watch The Voice with you. That okay?” A big smile covered her face, and I knew I had made the right decision.
That night with my sister, I laughed more than I had in forever. We sat on the couch and played old childhood music I had forgotten about. Most importantly, I learned new things about my sister and spent precious time with her. It’s these little spontaneous moments in life that restore me.
When I get caught up in my fear of messiness, I now remind myself about that old photo of me covered in mud. I was not scared of the mud. In fact, excitement and creativity rushed through me when I would feel it slipping between my fingers. Yes, my clothes got a bit dirty, but I didn’t worry. I learned from my younger self in that picture that perhaps the most joy-filled moments in life come in the messiness of life, not in striving for cleanliness in schedules or lists. And because of that, I will always believe in making time for mud pies.
