My imaginary alter ego visits me this time every year.
She knows I’m a mom preparing to host Thanksgiving dinner, buy Christmas gifts for five children and various friends and extended family, and make the holiday season feel special. And she tells me I need her to pull it off.
A mix between professional organizer and ghost of holidays past, she typically begins her visits by reviewing my previous year’s failings and offering ideas to make this season more efficient and, overall, more perfect.
She suggests things like clipping a few Thanksgiving recipes that no longer have the word “easy” in their name or planning my table decor in advance so I don’t have to resort to the brownish foliage in my yard to add a little pizazz.
She sighs at my inability to take advantage of online organizational tools and suggests I at least create that gift-purchasing notebook she’s been telling me about for years — the one containing a gift list for each person for whom I intend to buy and that I should carry everywhere like a Mary Poppins’ tote bag. This, she assures me, will keep all my lists securely in one place and allow me to mark off gifts in real time so I don’t (once again) forget a gift or purchase the same item twice.
She suggests I hone my gift-wrapping skills, finally use thick paper and silk bows and create perfect seams. No more wrapping like a third grader, she says.
She further suggests inputting strict deadlines on my calendar for important purchases so I am no longer forced to send my husband to the toy store on Christmas Eve or buy the last tree in the lot that is 2 feet too tall and looks a little like an upside-down umbrella.
She’s full of great ideas.
The funny thing is that, in spite of her years of visits and suggestions, my alter ego has, to date, remained imaginary. That’s because no matter how much I might want to be more like her, my true self inevitably cuts a few corners on (or burns parts of) the Thanksgiving meal, misplaces my 7-year-old’s Santa list, gives my oldest daughter the sweater intended for her younger sibling, wraps a few gifts with masking tape, takes what I can get at the Christmas tree lot, and shops all the way until December 24th. For me, humanity always wins.
I could beat myself up over this reality. I could also let it create anxiety over all the demands of the holiday season coming my way. Instead, though, I’ve decided it might be wiser (and honestly, more fun) to try and savor the looming imperfection.
Because, let’s face it. Imperfection is one of our most potent commonalities, so it’s nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, if the goal is to create a special season filled with memories, the moments that provide the most fodder for doing so are rarely the perfect ones. The imperfect moments, on the other hand, generate memory masterpieces.
When I think back to my own favorite holiday stories, they never involve someone successfully executing dinner, buying all the perfect presents or decorating without a hitch. They more often involve muddling any or all of the above (maybe even putting out a fire or two) and still being able to laugh about it with those we love.
So this holiday season, as my alter ego’s visit draws near, I think I’m going to respectfully show her to the door. Perfection might now win, but I don’t think it was ever meant to.
