Good Enough

I lay back in the warm water, body cradled by my pool float. I close my eyes to the blinding sun and feel its heat across my skin. Living thousands of feet high in elevation makes the sun feel more intense. A comfortable 89 at sea level feels different in this dry heat, and I can feel my skin absorb the invisible rays. Bobbing in the water, eyes closed, my mind relaxes. It’s like I become detached from the space, even though I’m listening to the raucous sounds my sons make as they splash near me. I imagine I’m in the bay, my favorite place, and feel the motion created by my sons’ movement like its the gentle lap of waves.

My husband’s first big quarantine project was to build us a pool out of a stock tank. Eight feet in diameter and two feet tall and about 700 gallons of water, it’s the perfect amount of space to float in, or in my children’s case, splash wildly. With my eyes shut, I don’t feel enclosed by the tank’s limited space or even our yard. And as my body relaxes, my mind joins in, and I remember days spent relaxing on the beach enjoying the same sun 1800 miles away.

This summer has been difficult for me to relax mentally. We’ve now been home for four months. I can count on one hand the number of places my daughter has gone in that time frame. Our usual go-to summer activities are off the books, so I love this pool for the change of scenery it offers. It’s one of the few places conducive to letting my mind relax instead of overthinking pretty much everything. And the one thing that’s taken up a lot of my processing power lately is school. I tried hard to ignore it, but school here starts in one month, it’s looming.

This day in August we’ll (presumably) be packing backpacks, picking out first-day outfits, getting masks ready, and starting my boys in K and 2nd grade. While I’ve tried not to overthink my decisions for the 2020-21 school year, I achieved only partial success. I wanted to bury my head in the sand and pretend that things would be normal, but we all know they’re not, and I don’t live near the beach anyway. Instead, I have overanalyzed the best thing to do for my kids. I’ve had to decide how my kids will receive their education and how to get them there. I’ve wrestled with my sons’ mental health needs versus my daughter’s physical ones, and all of this knowing that there is no risk-free solution.

My goals have gone from finding what’s perfect to what’s best down to what’s good and now simply what works. Maybe what works will turn out to be what’s good or could even surprise us as best, but for now, I just need to figure out workable solutions. It isn’t easy for me to accept. Maybe it’s my personality and the perfectionist hiding in me. Maybe it’s what mothers of my generation are taught, that we always have to do what’s best for our kids, never settle for good enough. But sometimes best isn’t so cut and dried. The best school for their education might not be the best for their mental and emotional needs. The best school for one child may not be the best for another. And the best for our family might be a compromise across the board for everyone. I’ve made a final decision that I hope works. At this point, I don’t think I could do any better, and I don’t want to torture myself figuring out if I can. I’m trying not to overthink it. I’m trying to show myself grace for giving my best, even if it’s not ‘the’ best. In this season, my best feels like a disjointed effort in finding freedom for my kids and protection from a deadly virus, and it looks like joining them in the pool.