Good Enough

by Patti

I have this amazing friend. She is beautiful, talented, feisty, funny, and anal as hell. Her name is J, and she color codes her checkbook. She saves receipts from 1993, "just in case", and they remain in pristine condition. Her car always smells like lemons, and she gets it washed year-round once a week. At least. She's never late on her bills, and her clothes are covered in plastic and hung neatly in her closet. She is the world's bossiest backseat driver. She always has pre-printed directions to where we are going. Spreadsheets make her horny.


My checkbook is wadded up in a cluttered desk drawer and has wine stains on it. The checks have been used in an out-of-order fashion, which would probably cause poor J to have a seizure. I tend to toss out important receipts but somehow collect those from 7-Eleven and McDonald's. And they are all at the bottom of my purse. My car smells suspiciously like S may have left a bottle of milk hidden in the back seat in 2003. I pay my bills a day late sometimes. And my clothes? Are in my laundry basket waiting to be hung. When someone else is driving I either talk them to death or just sing along to the radio and look at the scenery. If I need directions I will pull out my phone and GPS them - WHILE DRIVING. I can create a killer spreadsheet but only because I'm capable, not because I want to.

In short: We are total opposites.

When I see her lint-free, unwrinkled outfits and perfect skin and uber-organized binders that keep her life on track, I can't help but look at my shoes where the tips of the heels are ground down to the nail, and that 4th hormonal zit on my forehead, and my "Under $10!" shirt, and the nightmare inside my purse, and then I remember that I forgot to pay that bill again, damn it... and then I feel like I'm somehow not good enough. Because I'm always running late, and I'm always losing things, and no matter how many times I organize my wallet, it reverts back to being just a pocketbook of crumpled crap. And knowing this about myself and being somehow unable to change it pisses me off.

Fished out of my purse: My cell phone with a Riccola wrapper stuck to the screen.

But here's the thing: J has never made me feel like I am any less because it. In fact, J has always lifted me up when I put myself down, and laughed out loud to the point of crying at my weird sense of humor, and rather than call me irresponsible she calls me a free-spirit. And she loves me BECAUSE of who I am, not despite who I am - even the parts that cause her to have heart attacks.

Her friendship is a gift I cherish. Because it has made me realize many, many times over the past almost-15 years I have known her, that no matter what, I am good enough just the way I am.

J is about to become a mother for the first time; the last of all her friends to do so. And though she will likely be way more organized than I ever was, I know she will also go through a bit of Culture Shock. And when she is doubting herself, or wondering if she is doing it right, or plain wanting to break down and sob because it's all so damned hard, I will be there to let her know: You? And everything you are doing? It's all good enough.