When your best isn't good enough.

I don't think I'll ever tire of traveling, for the the curiosity within me never sleeps.-- Lalita

Toronto, Ontario, 2016. 

Episode #15 of #AskJuanita was supposed to go live today. That picture you see in the banner of this blog post? Yeah, that's from the episode you're not watching currently. 

Sometimes your absolute best for the day doesn't seem to cut it. It's days like this that you appear to be your own worst critic. It doesn't matter what you make, do or say, you seem to have let yourself down even in the way that you breathe. 

"Fuck, I can't even breathe right."

Alas, those days are best suited for naps. 

While I didn't nap today or finish editing Episode 15 of #AskJuanita, I did write this blog post (and a slew of other "I feel uncomfortable but this is what growing feels like" moments). 

I'm here to tell you that it's ok if you suck at breathing. 

It's ok to say enough. 

It's ok to pause, regather yourself, and reassess. 

It's ok to breakdown. 

Stretching of the soul is an Olympic sport. Don't confuse it for anything less. (tweet it!)




Single mom. 

It's ok to be scared. 

It's ok to be imperfect. Imperfection in fact is a deeply human experience, one that's not so much determined by the existence of said imperfections, but that is birthed through our perception and diagnosis of what is as being sub par.

Human is the contract we sign by walking on this earth. No one escapes it absolutely. It's part of the package deal. And "human" can get messy. 

While you're out there doing the work, showing up in the best way you know how, know that counts for something. 

And if today you go a little bit slower, so be it. 

I salute you for even trying. Living isn't for the faint of heart. It's much easier to walk through life like a zombie. Yes; living ain't easy. The sheer nature of being in a body is inherently challenging. 

I repeat. Being human, all on its own, is challenging enough. 

So today I give you permission to fuck up. 

To try, and fail, or not.

The outcome doesn't matter. 

I give you permission to eat the flaming hot Cheetos, to just be, to drunk dial your ex, regret it OR rejoice about it later, and to even call the dude your roommate psychically channeled for your sister

I'm not judging.  

Not every day, or even every moment for that matter, is going to feel like a home run. It's ok. 

You're in the game, and that's what matters most.