What a morning walk with my kids and puppy taught me about slowing down, letting go of perfection, and self-compassion
Years ago, my dear friend and I were talking about our favorite non-American concepts.
Her favorite concept was wabi-sabi— “finding the beauty in imperfection.”
Most of us resist imperfection in our daily lives. We strive for perfect scores in life tasks like parenting, completing never-ending to-do lists, and being the best version of ourselves possible. When we fall short of this unrealistic goal, we struggle with frustration, disappointment, critical inner dialogue, and anxiety.
As we hustle toward the next item on our agenda, wondering how today’s to-do list will ever get done, what goes unnoticed along the way? How many small moments of gratitude, awe, or connection do we rush past?
What if a self-compassion practice could help us slow down—find peace, breathe, and remember what matters most—even when life runs behind?
What would happen if we could seek wabi-sabi in life’s small moments instead of pushing ourselves to fulfill unrealistic expectations?
Read on for a story about a very ordinary parenting moment that became an invitation to grace.
Years ago, a graduate school mentor made a comment in passing that I’ve never forgotten:
Don’t ever become so important that you think it’s okay to be late and disrespect someone else’s time.
At the time, I was single and managing only my own schedule (which was a feat in itself). I rarely arrived late or unprepared.
Then I became a parent.
More specifically, a single parent of twin boys. And I realized that timely arrival—and always arriving prepared—is a lot harder when I became responsible for the executive functioning of three people.
Today my children are halfway through tenth grade. It’s easier to get them to school now that their first class doesn’t begin until after 9 a.m. than it was when they were in early elementary school. In their eleven-year school career, you could probably count on one hand the number of times they’ve been late for school.
How many times in that same span have I been late to work?
A centipede likely lacks enough digits.
They were in third grade before I learned that sometimes, I needed to embrace the tardy—to prioritize how I arrived over when. In other words, I needed to lean into wabi-sabi and loosen my grip on unrealistic perfection.
Let’s begin with a story, fellow travelers.
The Morning Rush: A Lesson in Letting Go
I sit at a stop sign and watch a mother rushing her child. I assume they’re on their way to the local elementary school. She’s dressed for work, tension visible even from across the street. She holds her son’s hand firmly, tugging him along, while he’s far more interested in the rocks—kicking them one by one to the edge of the sidewalk.
I glance at the clock. 7:34. The school opens at 7:35, classroom doors at 7:40, and students are marked tardy at 7:45. They’ll be late, despite her efforts.
I know it.
She knows it.
Embrace the tardy, Mama, I want to say.
She won’t beat the bell. She’ll end up in the school office, waiting in a long line of parents who also failed to rush their sleepy-footed children through morning routines, missed alarms, and cranky moods. She’ll probably barely make it to work on time—and might even cry after drop-off, overwhelmed by the weight of it all and the way her frustration came out in her goodbye.
Her shoulders slump as she checks her watch one last time. I can read her thoughts in her posture:
We’re going to be late.
No matter how hard I try, it’s never enough.
Why can’t I get it together like everyone else?
Parenting wasn’t supposed to be this hard.
Life wasn’t supposed to be this hard.
She wears her stress and fatigue like Charlie Brown’s buddy Pig-Pen wore his cloud of dust—but without his ever-present smile or his gift for being unabashedly himself. She frowns at her son. He keeps kicking rocks, blissfully unaware of her internal struggle.
I see you, Mama, I say silently.
I know it’s hard. Embrace the tardy, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay. Choose him. Don’t let someone else’s judgment or your own perfectionism and unrealistic expectations push you to choose otherwise.
You probably won’t remember in two hours that you were late and frazzled—but you will remember being impatient with him, while he was simply living in the present moment, full of wonder and authenticity—qualities adult life so easily erases.
The Walk That Changed Everything: A Self-Compassion Practice in Action
I know the bell schedule because those three bells marked the start of my mornings for two years when my children attended that school. We walked most days to avoid the traffic jam of 800 students and limited parking. We had to be out of the house by 7:10 to make it on time—or 7:20 if we did what we called a “half-half,” parking two blocks away.
To my recollection, Angel and Giovanni were never tardy during those two years. It was an impressive feat given the orchestration required to get two small boys, their gear, and their little legs to school before the bell rang.
Was it worth the stress and frustration of those mornings when I prioritized my anxiety about others’ judgment over our family’s peace and connection?
No.
Today, many years later, I realize how many moments we rushed past—birds, toads, puddles, morning dew held up by a single blade of grass. Too many days ended with goodbyes stuck in that unsettled space that follows an argument and grumpy moods.
When they started at a new school in second grade, it was only a block farther—but the tardy bell rang at 7:52.
One morning, we left at 7:25. I thought we could make it. Their legs were longer, and our new puppy, Maui, would motivate a brisker pace.
I was wrong.
Halfway there, I knew we were too slow—mostly because Maui was distracted by every person, dog, cat, bush, and stick between our house and the crosswalk. My stress climbed with each passing minute. My “Let’s keep moving” grew more clipped. Soon, my thoughts shifted from pace to logistics:
How will I juggle the tardy slip line and Maui? Are dogs even allowed inside the office? Why did I say yes to bringing the puppy? Why didn’t I choose a half-half instead of a full walk?
I took a deep breath and looked at my three boys. Angel and Giovanni were laughing as Maui darted back and forth, tail wagging. They had tried to include me in their laughter earlier, but I’d responded with a flat, “Yes, let’s keep moving so we aren’t late.”
They’d stopped trying.
They were present and joyful—wise enough to create space from my stress and negativity.
I envied their ability to enjoy the moment without worrying about tardy slips.
I took another slow breath and decided to join them.
“He really is a silly puppy, isn’t he?” I said.
They looked up and smiled.
“What do you say we embrace the tardy,” I suggested, “and just enjoy our walk before we all begin our days?”
They agreed. We slowed to a Maui-friendly pace, and the walk transformed.
It became easy, light, and genuinely fun.
We arrived about five minutes after class began. A teacher offered to stay outside and play with Maui while I waited to sign them in. When I returned, he reluctantly handed me the leash and said:
“That was the best start to my day ever. Thank you.”
Turns out, it was a pretty good start to mine, too.
Embrace the Tardy: A Go-To Self-Compassion Phrase
Later, as I watch the mother across the street, she tries once more to pull her son away from his rock kicking. She glances at her watch, exhales, and releases his arm. He looks up. She smiles and kisses the top of his head. Then she joins him in kicking rocks off the sidewalk.
From the back seat, my son says,
“Looks like they’re embracing the tardy, Mom.”
In the years since that morning when Maui slowed us down, embrace the tardy has become one of my go-to self-compassion phrases. I reach for it often—and have broadened its meaning far beyond punctuality. I whisper it when I catch a mistake or mishandle something. It calms me when stress threatens to take over. It interrupts the spiral of self-criticism, widens my perspective, and reminds me that I am human—and thus incapable of anything other than living life imperfectly.
Embrace the tardy releases me from regretting what might have been or worrying about possible consequences, criticism, or outcomes. It invites me to arrive in a way that feels good—unhurried, centered, and free from fear and frustration.
That morning many years ago, Maui and I took the long way home.
I wanted to enjoy our walk—to notice the leaves, the birds, and the things that made his tail wag. Beauty that isn’t visible when all I see is the clock.
I hope that mama enjoyed her walk home, too.
Closing Reflection
Maui turned eight last September. Of all the teachers I’ve had who have nudged me toward growth and self-compassion, he remains one of the best. In retrospect, he joined our lives at the perfect time that felt rather imperfect when we were living it—the boys were navigating a new school, I was recovering from major surgery, and our days felt chaotic and unpredictable. Maui, with his untamed wildness and well-intended mischief, pushed me to sigh, smile, and reach for self-compassion as I released my vision of how life should be and settled into how it was.
Despite our best efforts, life doesn’t always proceed according to our plans. So instead of wishing things were different, we can choose to celebrate the beauty of what is—and embrace imperfect moments as kintsugi, honoring the cracks with gold rather than trying to make them disappear.
That’s what wabi-sabi is, dear ones.
It’s the release of fantasized perfection and the embrace of the perfectly imperfect beauty we hold in our hands.
It’s taking our eyes off our watches (or phones) and turning them toward the life and people around us.
It’s kicking rocks. Laughing at a goofy puppy. Giving ourselves grace instead of grief.
And yes—embracing the tardy.
Ubuntu, fellow travelers. May you celebrate the wabi-sabi that surrounds you today.
Jennifer
If this story resonated, consider sharing it with someone who needs permission to slow down.
© 2025 Jennifer Ayres, PhD | Still River Counseling, PLLC
Written with care for fellow travelers navigating life’s changing currents.
🌐 StillRiverCounseling.com | 📍 Austin, TX
Gentle Reminder:
The reflections shared here are intended to offer insight and support. They are not a substitute for therapy or professional mental-health care, and reading this blog does not create a therapeutic or doctor–patient relationship.
