Happy Valentine’s Day — or happy Day of the Heart as they call it at my son’s school.

Can I just say I can’t believe it’s February? I’m finally feeling really well-prepared for September … of last year. Well, then. Onward.}

So, a couple days ago we got a puppy. Nine weeks old, the little thing. She’s a bundle of joy and exuberance and quite possibly the cutest thing ever. She’s already mastered peeing on her special pad. But poop? Not so much.

Stay with me a sec so I can link up self-love with puppy poops.

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Although I haven’t always been, I am very picky about who I learn from.

After some times of being misled, bamboozled, and relieved of large sums of money, I am extremely discerning about who I let into my heart, let influence my energy, and let care for the well-being of my psyche while they help me transform into the next version of me.

Nowadays, I make my choice fairly quickly whether I will or won’t learn from any particular person. It’s a swift bodily affirmation. But I thought it might be useful to break down what I’m paying attention to, as I make my choices.

May it be useful to you as you make your own.

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If the whole “Carpae-The-Next-365-Diems” thing isn’t feeling right to you for some reason, may this odd article of mine below shed some light on why.

I have always been suspicious of setting resolutions at the start of a new year.

You know how resolutions go … diets last about 3 hours (or maybe 3 days if you’re really hardassed and depending how much chocolate and chips you have in your pantry). Workout regimes last about 3 days (or 3 weeks if you’re really hard nosed and depending on how much you actually loathe those step aerobics classes).

But recently, trying to set goals is feeling more hollow and disorienting than usual.

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I suspect this article on perfectionism will be useful to bring with you into this holiday season. It comes with a little challenge, too, so I hope you’ll stay with me all the way to the end.

Too often, to be a woman alive today means to be obsessed with being “perfect.”

Perfect hair, perfect nails, perfect posture, perfect weight, perfect grades, perfect kids, perfect partner, perfect manners, perfect shoes.

The promise is that once we reach “perfect” we’ll finally be okay. Accepted. Loved. Enough. Worthy. Safe.

Now, have you ever reached “perfect?” Me neither.

And yet, perfectionism remains a popular and crowded industry.

I think there are actually three kinds of perfectionism. One kind is deadly. Two kinds, however, hold clues to really learning to like ourselves. As we are, now.

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Your body is a temple.

I’ve heard that phrase many times before. I have always loved it, but truth be told, I only let it sink in as far as, “Too many French fries just ain’t good for this sacred vessel o’ mine.” Or, “Less complaining, more gratitude.” And, “If this eyeliner blinded the bunny it was tested on, I surely should not, ethically or practically, put it on my eyes.”

But really, what if my body were ACTUALLY a temple?

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