Early one weekend morning, I was in a downtown area, looking for a place to park so I could explore a city green space. The parking garages were closed, and the only choice was to parallel park on the street.

I know this to be true because I circled the block four times, hoping to weasel out of parallel parking. I do not possess that skill, nor do I have a smart car that’ll park for me.

With no other choice, I took a deep breath and attempted the maneuver, cutting the wheel and backing in.

Not good enough, so I tried again and again.

By this time, especially with all that turning and twisting, the car had to be practically touching the curb.

I got out, looked, and my car was about two feet away from the curb. I decided that was close enough. I turned the engine off and enjoyed the green space.

Sometimes, close enough is good enough.

Sewing is that way for me. I decided to make some pillow shams, a project I haven’t tackled since my boys were in diapers.

After the third YouTube video of demonstrating how to find the exact middle of the material, I threw the tape measure against the wall,

There was no way I was going to get those seams exactly 18 and an eighth inches apart.

Instead, I eyeballed it.

There wasn’t an equal hem on both sides of the sham, but the seams were hidden. They were good enough and close enough and, from the front, the shams looked nice and neat.

In this case, a guess was good enough.

For years, I’ve made pancakes so now I eyeball the dry mix and the milk, and most of the time, I get pretty close the first time.

But I don’t have to be exact. If the batter’s too runny, I add more dry mix. If it’s too thick, I add more milk.

Close enough, in this case, is definitely good enough.

I decided long ago that when it comes to recipes, close enough is good enough.

My sister gave me a recipe for a spicy chicken casserole.

The long list of ingredients included boiling a chicken, straining the broth, chopping up chiles and melting cheese.

No way, I told myself.

I bought a rotisserie chicken and a box of spicy Velveeta cheese. Did that casserole have deboned chicken and hand-grated cheese?

Nope.

Did anyone complain?

Nope.

Close enough, once again, was good enough.

I eyeball hanging pictures on the wall. I’ve tried hanging them side by side, but I’ve never gotten it right, even when I use a ruler and a level. So, I made a choice to change my decorating style to staggered and “eclectic.”

In other words – all over the place.

I’ve racked my brain, trying to think of areas in my everyday life where I have to be precise. Not cooking, definitely not cleaning or the laundry.

The dog doesn’t require me to do things precisely – she just wants to be fed and let out to chase squirrels in the back yard.

I will concede, however, that there’s a place, reason and time to be precise.

Removing an appendix or performing LASIK eye surgery both require precise measurements.

Architects, accountants and airplane pilots must be precise in their fields. We count on pharmacists getting the dosage in our medications correct down to the last gram.

But I’m not a doctor, dentist, ophthalmologist or airline pilot. I’m just a regular person trying to bumble my way through life.

So if I hang a picture a little crooked, have a half-inch hem on one side of a pillow sham and an inch hem on the other, that’s close enough.

And good enough for me.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.