Letters to Messy Perfectionists

Wake up, losers. We are delighting.

Rachel Willimott — Thu, 13 Aug 2026 15:02:58 GMT

Imagine a small child, around 2 years old, investigating an egg. They look at it with wonder. Move it around their hands, feeling the coolness, the smoothness of the shell. They tap on it to see what happens. They drop it on the floor, watch it break, the yolk spilling out. They take in their own cause and effect. And then you watch as their eyes open wide and searching, their grin just... delighted.

When was the last time you delighted in your life, in a mundane moment, in something small that actually felt magical?

I’ve been noticing delight these days. I experience it as a sense of wonder, of joy, of falling in love with life. It isn’t happiness necessarily; it’s more like the ability to be surprised, to let life be magical. Sometimes I delight in something and want to cry because delight reminds me that life is messy, beautiful, and miraculous.

If we think of delight as a perspective, as a way of relating to life, then we don’t need easy or privileged lives to experience delight. In fact, I’ve experienced delight in the profoundly tumultuous and grief-stricken seasons of my life. There’s something about seeing a spark of light amidst the dark that is... delightful. On a terrible day, you might watch the sun cut a path through your living room and be moved by the dust motes.

So how do we practice delighting in life? How do we create lives that are open to delight? And what are the conditions for delight to grow?

Beginner’s mind — the idea of approaching your life as if it’s the first time — is linked to wonder, awe, and delight. It’s seeing your life through new eyes. When I take a walk around my neighborhood and take in the flowers and the shifting tones in houses, I am awakening my ability to delight. When I watch strangers on first dates as they awkwardly and sweetly flirt, I delight in connection and the messiness of humans. You can take a routine moment and experience it like it’s the first time. Everyday moments then become infused with a sense of novelty and newness.

I started using my old DSLR again and I was reminded that I need to pay close attention to set up the shot, get the settings and light right, and get a composition that captures the feeling. After tinkering, I was walking around seeing strangers’ expressions differently, the play of light and shadow, the ways colors threw themselves together. And I felt delighted! Delight follows our senses. It’s as if curiosity and observation are the preconditions for delight.

Curiosity is asking questions, wanting to learn more. Observing is waking up to this moment, over and over again. It’s wondering what will happen when you dance in your apartment alone, then noticing the feeling of your body moving. It’s wondering what that new recipe will taste like or trying a different route to work. Then watching to see what happens. And sometimes delight finds you around the corner.

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As I was writing this, I gazed away from my computer and saw my cat snoozing, his eyes half closed, his head on his paw. I just took in the details: his soft fur, the cozy way he slept, the gratitude I felt that this little creature had chosen me. And I realized that we need love for delight. Love for yourself, for common humanity, for this precious, fragile world.

I’ve found being a companion to myself increases my capacity for delight. Remember that child with their egg? They could only be curious and open if they know they were safe and loved first. As adults, we get to be both the curious, observing child and the loving, safe environment.

This is where observing your own life can help bring you closer to self-compassion. Witness yourself eating a nourishing meal. Witness yourself having a hard day and responding with a heating pad, tea, and a call to a friend.

I was fairly sick on a recent trip and really practiced meeting myself lovingly. I cancelled what needed to be cancelled. Ordered food that would make my body happy. Continually checked in with myself, “Babe, what do you need?” I got through the sickness. But perhaps more importantly, in the days that followed, I found myself delighting in my capacity to take this body on walks, or nourish myself, or speak to myself kindly when I was confused or frustrated.

And maybe that’s the last condition for delight: being open to life surprising us. Because I was delighted by my own capacity to care for myself because I’ve been hard on myself for much of my life. So being my own bestie was surprising in its own way.

I know that I have the tendency to want certainty — who amongst us doesn’t want that sweet, sweet security?! — but I think delight dies in certainty. Maybe delight is found in “I paid attention and that happened?! WOW.” So these days I’m working on not trying to predict every move. To be open to magic. To be open to being surprised.

This isn’t a task titled FEEL MORE DELIGHT. Maybe the invitation is to be fully awake to your life, curious and noticing, seeing your life in all its mundane routines through new eyes. Maybe it’s treating yourself like your own soulmate; let’s face it, you are the longest relationship you’ll ever have. And then be open to what comes your way. Along the way, you might just fall in love with your own life.

That’s what I want for you, babe. I want you to delight in your life. I want you to pick up the metaphorical egg, turn it in your hands, drop it on the floor, and delight in what you’ve discovered. Thank god delight doesn’t ask us to have our life together; we especially need it when shit hits the fan. If you’re awake to this messy, beautiful life and open to a little magic, delight will find you. So go break some eggs in the spirit of discovery.

Getting rid of baking supplies: A metaphor

Rachel Willimott — Thu, 02 Jul 2026 14:56:02 GMT

I’m writing to you from the middle of purging old belongings as I move to a smaller apartment. Even before this, I’ve had the sense of having too much... stuff. Cabinets full of baking supplies I last used maybe 18 months ago. A closet full of old cords, clothes that no longer fit, and odds and ends that I never really decided to keep. And through it al…

I thought I needed to be composed.

Rachel Willimott — Thu, 18 Jun 2026 15:05:01 GMT

I’ve been navigating a period of transition and grief. And through that process, two of my closest friends invited me to dinner. My response? “I’d love to, but I probably won’t be a fun hang.”

Cue face palm emoji. 🤦🏼‍♀️

I’m making my life’s work about community, and vulnerability, and creating a life that feels true to you. Yet here I was trying to be p…

Help! I tried resting but just felt guilty.

Rachel Willimott — Thu, 04 Jun 2026 15:02:15 GMT

Recently, a friend and I were talking through our respective exhaustion — because everyone is tired and burned out and scared these days. I shared that some days the idea of a phone call, let alone leaving the house, feels harder than expected. My friend’s response: “Yeah it’s a total catch-22 where the more Gollum-y I feel, the more Gollum-y I act.”

As…

Your inner critic is contagious

Rachel Willimott — Thu, 21 May 2026 15:03:30 GMT

Your friend recounts a story, ending with a spiral of “I can’t believe I did that. I’m so stupid.” You remember doing something similar and now feel somehow chastened. You tell yourself that it isn’t about you and try to move on.

A father grumbles to himself, “Why can’t I figure this out? Don’t be an idiot.” His son hears that and remembers the math hom…

You can't deep breathe your way through gestures wildly

Rachel Willimott — Thu, 07 May 2026 15:01:46 GMT

After a hard day, I opened Instagram in bed and saw a new horror that had come to light. Within minutes I felt my throat tighten up, a wave of nausea course through me, my stomach bottom out. I felt both antsy and bone-tired. I wanted to cry, to rage, to run away. I felt enraged yet helpless. This is the fight/flight response in action. Over a few words…

The loneliness of taking care of everyone else - and what it's protecting.

Rachel Willimott — Thu, 23 Apr 2026 15:00:50 GMT

Maybe you’re the “Mom friend” - the one with snacks and Advil and an itinerary for the day. Or perhaps you’re the “therapist friend” who processes the break-ups, grabs the tissues, and listens to your family vent. Or maybe you’re the “Dad friend”: helping people move, good with a hammer, and giving encouragement with a clap on the back. And then when it…

Starting therapy and feeling nervous? Put down the notebook.

Rachel Willimott — Thu, 09 Apr 2026 21:00:30 GMT

You may have seen the meme of the woman who makes a PowerPoint presentation of her trauma for a new therapist. I laugh every time I see it because - like all good comedy - it says something true. Starting with a new therapist is a daunting process.

Even after you’ve done a phone consultation, a new therapist is still a stranger. You hope therapy will hel…