My Date With Failure
Celebrating me, motherhood, and my 40th in Paris
I’m walking down the Champs-Elysees in Paris with my daughter and mother, celebrating my big 40th birthday in the way that I had dreamed of and fully planned - when suddenly, tears started streaming down my face. I know what you must be thinking, I was so caught up in the emotion of having my vision come true, being with two of my most favorite people in my most favorite of places.
But no.
As I push my daughter's stroller down one of the most iconic avenues in this beautiful city, these tears are something else. These tears aren’t the kind full of love and gratitude. No. These tears are painful and dark, because even amongst all the beauty of my surroundings, I feel her standing beside me; Failure.
In this moment I feel like a complete and utter failure.
Before I know it, I can’t stop crying as I’m flooded with the reality of all my failures spiraling within as I try to push the stroller faster.
My daughter just had an epic meltdown, I’m obviously failing at motherhood. I’m failing at friendships, I can barely remember to respond to a text never mind plan a night out. I’m failing at work, never feeling like I’m doing enough. At home, the laundry piles up, the dishwasher always needs to be emptied, the sheets need to be changed, and dear god, what on earth is for dinner? Failure.
The failures start stringing together more quickly now.
Dating life, currently nonexistent - Failure. I’m out of shape, my jeans aren’t fitting like they should and I haven’t worked out in ages - Failure. I said I would meditate more and I haven’t - Failure. Financially things get tight at times, Failure. Even this blog and instagram, who do I think I am? - Failure. And on and on and on She goes.
By the time I see the Arc de Triomphe in front of me, I’ve internally agreed with every aspect Failure has called me out on.
I reach the hotel and immediately need to center myself. Need to find the truth, because deep down, I know this isn’t true. I know I’m not actually failing at anything.
But the overwhelm of motherhood, single motherhood, and doing this alone can hit even in the most beautiful places. The saying wherever you are, there you are has never hit harder. The weight of life and fear of never being good enough lingers awhile as I let the tears subside.
The truth is, even with life feeling this hard at times, I wouldn’t trade what I have for anything else. I smile, knowing these challenging moments and big feelings appear to help us grow, help us become fuller versions of our true selves. I sit, I breathe, and look out at the street of Paris below, with my daughter in my arms and my mother close by. I take it in, this beautiful, raw moment of vulnerability in this big, beautiful life I am creating.
How lucky I am.
That night, I canceled the big fancy dinner I had planned. I washed and fixed my face, put on something pretty but comfortable, and headed out for casual but delicious pizza. After dinner, we watched the Eiffel Tower sparkle, heard La Vie en Rose play, and had crème brûlée for dessert. It was perfectly imperfect in all the right ways. Because that’s what life is, perfectly imperfect.