I wish I had a nicer couch. Instead, the couch that anchors my living room—a big, beige sectional—is fraying a bit at the edges and isn’t quite the same shade of cream it was when we bought it. The surfaces are worn in the spots where I’ve scrubbed away stains, and I’m quite confident that wedged between the attached cushions are ghostly remnants of cereal pieces and potato chips that will never see the light of day again. It’s about as far from perfect, in fact, as a piece of furniture could possibly be. But guess what? That’s okay. It has taken me a long time to get to a point where I’m able to say that. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned to lean into, especially over the past year, it’s the gentle act of allowing myself to be imperfect. We’ll replace the couch someday. When I’m facing down book deadlines and have a self-destructive need to procrastinate just a little longer, I occasionally find my way to home design sites and the web pages of furniture stores, where I lust over spotless sectionals and imagine them taking the place of my old, slightly sagging piece of furniture. But I’ve also made myself a promise—that when we replace the couch, it will be because we want to, not because I’m seeing my house, or my life, through someone else’s eyes and finding it wanting. And you know what matters more than the old couch’s spots and fuzzy edges? It’s the fact that it’s a place where we’ve spent countless family movie nights and where my 5-year-old son curls up in the morning with a cup of apple juice and Cheerios to watch The Lion Guard. It’s where my husband and I have a glass of wine and watch Netflix or hockey games after our son goes to sleep. It has been, at times, a dining room, a movie theater, a place where it’s too easy to accidentally fall asleep, even the bare bones of an elaborate pillow fort. It’s the first place I sat when we bought this house in 2014, the nest where I nursed my newborn son for countless hours in 2016 and the spot my husband rearranged to accommodate me when I shattered my kneecap in 2018. It has been at the center of everything—and that’s why it’s showing signs of wear. And let’s be honest; I’m showing signs of wear, too. The lines on my face seem to multiple by the day; and I can only vaguely recall having had a lean, narrow waistline a decade ago. But like my couch, the signs of my own wear and tear are indications of a life well lived. The lines are signs of a lot of smiles and laughter; the inches at the waistline the evidence of having enjoyed good meals, and also of having borne a child. Do I occasionally long for the unblemished skin I used to have, for the abs that used to look acceptable in a bikini? Sure, but then I wouldn’t be me. I wouldn’t have the life I have. Along with those lines and pounds have come lessons and growth and the gradual embracing of my right to be imperfect. I will still walk into other people’s homes and feel great respect and awe for the ones that are sparkling clean. I might even feel a bit of envy—no, I definitely will. One day, my own home might be neater. I might be the kind of woman who keeps the couch spotless, who keeps the floors vacuumed, who puts away all the toys and books and games at the end of the night. But for now, I will take a deep breath. I will remind myself that in life, we’re not meant to be flawless. We are only meant to be the best people we can be. And that has nothing to do with the things we see on the outside, the number of extra pounds clinging to us in unfavorable locations, or the way we keep our houses. It has to do with the lives we lead, the decisions we make, the good deeds we do, the mistakes we find the strength to apologize for, and all the messy ways we strive again and again to grow. So I will do my best to lean into imperfection—both in my house and in myself—because it is there that I will find room to breathe. It is there that I’ll be reminded that it’s okay to simply be who I am. And it is there that I will, for now at least, once again sink into my perfectly imperfect couch and strive to see it for what it is: the center of a life that was never meant to be flawless, but rather a life that was simply meant to be lived the best way I know how. Next, can you make your own luck? Author Mary Alice Monroe thinks yes—here’s why. Friends & Fiction is an online community, weekly live web show, and podcast founded and hosted by bestselling authors Mary Kay Andrews, Kristin Harmel, Kristy Woodson Harvey, Patti Callahan Henry, and Mary Alice Monroe, who have written more than 90 novels between them and are published in more than 30 languages. Catch them and their incredible author guests live every Wednesday at 7pm ET on the Friends & Fiction Facebook group page or their YouTube Channel. Follow them on Instagram and, for weekly updates, subscribe to their newsletter. Kristin Harmel is the New York Times bestselling, USA Today bestselling, and #1 international bestselling author of more than a dozen novels, including The Forest of Vanishing Stars, The Book of Lost Names, and The Winemaker’s Wife. Her novels are published in 29 languages. A former reporter for PEOPLE magazine and contributor to the national television morning show The Daily Buzz, she is the co-founder and co-host of the popular web series and podcast Friends & Fiction. Follow her on Instagram, Facebook, and KristinHarmel.com.
