Living Undone

Letting Go of the Myth of Perfection

“Perhaps being undone is not falling apart at all, but loosening our grip on who we think we should be.”

Lately I have been reflecting on the word undone.

Here in Central Oregon, there is a grief organization called Living Undone, a phrase often used to describe the experience of loss—whether the death of a loved one or one of the many ambiguous losses we carry throughout our lives. Loss has a way of unraveling us. It strips away certainty, changes who we thought we were, and leaves us standing in unfamiliar territory.

But as I sit with the word, I find myself drawn to a different meaning.

For me, living undone is not about grief alone. It is about releasing the illusion of perfection.

A question raised this morning stayed with me: How do we live together in a world increasingly divided by judgment, certainty, and tribalism?

The speaker invited us to consider what stands opposite of judgment. The answers that emerged were curiosity, compassion, empathy, and acceptance. These qualities require us to loosen our grip on being right and open ourselves to understanding. They invite us into humility.

Perhaps they also invite us into being undone.

To live undone is to accept that I am not perfect, you are not perfect, and this world is not perfect. It was never meant to be.

Somewhere along the way many of us absorbed the belief that if we work hard enough, heal enough, organize enough, parent well enough, pray enough, or accomplish enough, we will finally arrive at a state where everything is complete. Yet life keeps teaching a different lesson.

There is always another task tomorrow.

Another load of laundry.

Another meal to prepare.

Another conversation to have.

Another opportunity to begin again.

As mothers, many of us know this intimately. There are seasons when life feels like Groundhog Day—packing lunches, answering questions, driving carpools, cleaning kitchens, repeating the same acts of care over and over again. The work is often unfinished because love itself is ongoing.

And maybe that is not a problem to solve.

Maybe being undone is part of the human condition.

As I prepare to take a week away from work, I will spend part of that time with my daughters serving on a farm in California's Sacramento Valley. Together, we will help harvest peaches that would not otherwise make it to market. Instead of going to waste, these peaches will be distributed to communities around the world experiencing food insecurity.

I hope my daughters learn something important from this experience, but perhaps the lesson is as much for me as it is for them.

We are not the center of the story.

Other people matter.

The world asks us not only to pursue our own comfort but also to notice those who are hungry, grieving, struggling, and unseen.

Service has a way of undoing us. It reminds us that life is bigger than our schedules, our achievements, our insecurities, and our endless striving. It reconnects us to our shared humanity.

When I think about the next two weeks, my intention is simple:

To practice being undone.

To leave some things unfinished.

To resist the urge to optimize every moment.

To allow myself to be present rather than productive.

To accept the person I am today instead of chasing a better version of myself tomorrow.

Because healing does not happen through perfection.

It happens through connection.

Through community.

Through showing up exactly as we are.

Through recognizing that our worth was never dependent upon having everything figured out.

The older I get, the more I believe that wholeness is not the same thing as perfection.

Wholeness is acceptance—the gentle practice of welcoming every unfinished, imperfect, and tender part of ourselves into the circle. It is not becoming someone new; it is accepting who we are in this moment with compassion.

Perhaps living undone is not about falling apart at all.

Perhaps it is about loosening our grip on who we think we should be so we can become more fully who we already are.

As I step away for a week of service, time with my daughters, and a slower rhythm of living, I am carrying this intention with me: not to become better, more efficient, or more complete, but to be present to the life that is already here.

To trust that unfinished does not mean inadequate.

To trust that connection matters more than perfection.

To trust that the work of being human was never about having it all figured out.

And maybe, just maybe, that is enough for today.

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