It ain't perfect, but it might be something

It ain't perfect, but it might be something—these are the types of stories I find myself needing these days. Because it's so easy to forget to hope. Like when your team is down a couple of runs and manages to score on a wild pitch. It ain't perfect, but it might be something.

For me, I've put on a good 25 lbs. of so-called "sympathy weight" since Emily got pregnant and we had the baby. But I've spent a couple of mornings in the squat rack over the last few weeks and know what organic bread is. It ain't perfect, but it might be something.

It's hard making friends in a new city, and he spends a lot of Friday nights alone. But not this Friday: that Josh guy he met at that church cookout (the 15 minutes he dared to stay for) invited him to go see Mission Impossible 11 or 12 or whatever they're on. It ain't perfect, but it might be something.

He used to go to the “group therapy sessions” because his wife said she'd leave him. He still doesn't like them, but he's made friends with Randy and Mike from group, and they play pickleball on Tuesday nights. It ain't perfect, but it might be something.

Her son stormed out a lot before he moved away and came around for either Thanksgiving or Christmas—never both. But he called on Mother's Day instead of texting. It ain't perfect, but it might be something.

He laughs off his loneliness and pretends it doesn't exist. But one night, he finally called an old friend, and they talked about soccer and life for 2 hours. Turns out his buddy is going to be a dad. “Also, dude, did you see Messi’s goal?” It ain't perfect, but it might be something.

She asked her husband to get his own apartment so she could have the space the therapist recommended. But there's an empty wine bottle and two glasses on the Goodwill coffee table, and she's sneaking out of that apartment at 7 am. It ain't perfect, but it might be something.

He hasn't been himself since the stroke and seems to want to just be left alone—even if it means divorce. But they still hold hands during the scary parts when she takes him for his follow-up appointments. It ain't perfect, but it might be something.

The hotel room has HBO, and nobody would find out. But he's handing the TV's power cable to the front desk attendant, who doesn't ask any questions. He can sleep in his wedding ring without feeling evil tonight. It ain't perfect, but it might be something.

Speaking of hotel rooms, she's sitting in one with a lot of dark thoughts that have been getting away from her since she got off of I-70. She and Jesus haven't been on speaking terms since college (Are you even there? We used to talk so much. Now it feels like I’m leaving voicemails). But she hasn't forgotten that hotels still have a leather-bound book with red letters in the drawer next to the bed. It ain't perfect, but it might be something.

Wherever you find yourself today, tonight, tomorrow—and I know there are a lot of places that aren't easy—maybe sometimes it's just the courage to take the next step. If you take it or you don't, I'm cheering for you. Because I need to hear that story. It ain't perfect, but it might be something.