Not Cutting It


For most of my life I have not, by definition, ” cut the mustard “.

I’ve inched close to making my goals but I never, ever quite cross the finish line.

Like I’ve worn the right clothes, but I didn’t wear the right color. I read a lot of books but I don’t read some of the cool ones that turn up on the banned book lists or book club lists and they don’t seem to get more then one star at Amazon or Goodreads.

And don’t even get me started on where I ended up in personal relationships- on the other hand my cats live freakishly long lives and my dogs have all been wicked smart and on their own figured out things like how to open up accordian doors and little things like unzipping backpacks to get to the snacks that most of us carry around in there. They were great at problem solving-every single one of them.

So even though I never, ever cut the mustard and I probably never will there is this-

I’ve navigated my way through this world- which can only be described as a burning house without crashing into a heap and at the end of the day when I get home and open door and my dog- who has spent all seven years of his life with someone who struggles daily with severe depression- my dog has a toy in his mouth and his is jumping up and down and he is insane with joy.

I may not have cut the mustard and I may not have hit those goals but when I see  unabashed joy my dog  oozes from every pore of his being has when he sees people outside on our walks  or we meet up with dogs or cats or when the alarm rings in the morning and we have to get up- I’m thinking that I may not be cutting the mustard but I’m doing something right and defining what  those things are or if I ever cut the mustard at all   doesn’t seem to be very important.


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