“When can I get a full data plan?” asks my son as he opens a conversation about the upcoming school year. We’ve been sitting around our kitchen table and nearing the end of a robust discussion on making personal choices, taking chances, listening to instincts. But applying life lessons to data plans just feels entirely too much for me. I can tell we are at the close of open-minded parent/child dialogue and also, discussing cell phone use or any kind of screen time these days with my children is about as much fun for me as coming into the unexpected presence of a mama grizzly and her little grizzly cubs.

Trying desperately to not project my intense dislike for the subject and instead portray the calm, “I’m open to hearing your side” kind of attitude, I reply honestly “I’m not quite ready for this conversation right now.” It was the best I could do in that moment. And considering that the climate remained calm and my son was promised a future time for such thoughtful discourse, I considered it a successful tactic. At that moment, it was good enough.

I remember sitting in my therapist’s office years ago, trying desperately to let go of the impossible feats I was attempting at the time. I’m a born dreamer who adopted an unhealthy amount of rigidity when my vision didn’t line up with my circumstance. My wise and patient therapist looked me dead in the eye after I wrapped up a long-winded rant and, deciding to just straight talk me, said “Sometimes good enough is just… good enough.” At the time we were talking about messy houses and willful children, but hearing those words in that moment for me was life changing.

I decided I liked good enough. I liked it very much. And I found myself gleefully applying the good enough philosophy to every part of my life that I was struggling with. The laundry was “good enough”. My house was “good enough”. My bank account was “good enough”. My family life was… actually very good. My children… well, they were the only souls that had me at first blink even if they did squabble like a pack of feral cats in a hay loft.

Eventually, I became good enough.

My perspective opened as I slowly began to loosen my grip on the outcomes I designed fit for perfection alone. The walls began to crack and a new more flexible woman emerged.

My boy will get his conversation. And it’ll probably be a smarter one having taken time to think things through. Rather than advancing through a communicative minefield, I gave an answer good enough for the time and moved on.

I’ll be practicing “good enough” again in just a few minutes when I prepare my family’s heat ‘n serve dinner ‘cause even though my vision for the future is perfect and clear, it doesn’t mean my steps toward it need to be.

Sometimes good enough is just… good enough.