As I sat on my porch this morning after the flurry of a few days of travel,

this thought came to mind:

"I am practicing living in the beautiful tension of life's imperfections."

I am not great at this.

My tendency, my temptation is to try to fix it all.

It is hard for me to be still when all is not as it should be. Or rather, all is not as I think it should be. Important distinction there.

But what if "fixing it all" is a myth; a goal that is unattainable, unachievable?

What if most of life is simply about the practice of living in the beautiful tension of imperfection?