Perfect sense

It occurred to me about halfway through the article on perfectionists that I might be one.

When I suggested it to the family members reading other sections of the newspaper around the breakfast table, they laughed.

Because they already knew.

How embarrassing.

How distressing.

How enlightening.

I might argue in my defense, and in defense of all others out there who I happen to know are also perfectionists because they're mothers, that good can come of perfection.

A perfect dinner that everybody loves, a perfect outing where all the items on your list are actually found and some are even on sale, a perfect moment when everybody's happy and everything's going as planned, a perfect feeling from accomplishment or beauty or peace.

Perfection becomes a problem, according to the article, when things are not perfect and personal failure brings self-criticism. Or when those around you are not perfect and your disappointment affects your relationships.

This makes sense.

So from now on I won't kick myself when I mess up.

And from now on I won't kick against life when things or people around me mess up.

Because perfectionists have stress that causes immune problems according to the article.

I will be perfect in not expecting perfection in me or anyone else.

And if I mess up...

...there I go again.

Perfect recent moments:

And a perfect quote from Sam Keen that solves all our problems: "We come to love not by finding the perfect person, but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly."

A memory

It has been at least 10 years since I saw her, sitting on her dad's shoulders, delighting in her surroundings.

But I have thought about her often since then, wishing I could be like her.

She was probably only three years old at the time, and probably not all that interested in the people and books her dad had come to see.

It was an outdoor book festival at a private university in Salt Lake City and some of us were there to sell, others to buy.

It was September, but unseasonably cold weather had come in, dusting the area with snow that morning. So as we sat with our books and our smiles and our shivers, we took turns complaining about the weather and how it complicated our lives that day. Everyone hunkered down, wrapped in whatever sweaters or wraps they could find to brace them from the wind, drawing inward against the chill, looking for an opportunity to run inside the nearby buildings and try to get warm.

But then I spotted this little girl, above the crowd thanks to her father's height, with an expression on her face that contrasted dramatically with all of ours.

Her face was towards the wind, and her smile was one of delight as it blew her hair back and tickled her eyelashes and whispered in her ear.

It's hard to describe the delight on her face. But easy to remember.

We were fighting the wind and the cold. Angry at it. Chilled by it.

She was embracing it. Delighting in it. Savoring it.

It might not be wind or cold that I'm fighting or angry or frustrated with.

It might be other vicissitudes or complications or annoyances in life.

But I hope to be able to resist hunkering down and complaining. I hope to be able, like that little girl in a cold and windy place many years ago, put my face toward the wind... and smile.

(Another stormy shopping day -- this one in Astoria. ) (Sorry I used the word "delight" or its forms so often above. I normally avoid oversuse of one word. But it fits best.)

Winning and losing

First I read about the hurdler who all of China is watching, the whole country hoping he will take gold at the Olympics. I felt sorry for the pressure he is probably feeling and hoped he would win.

Then I saw the picture of the guy from Cuba who also competes in hurdles, and could tell by his face how badly he wanted victory. And I hoped he'd win too.

And then I saw the picture of the guy from team USA and read his confident words and wondered if it might be good for him to have the victory.

That's the problem with the Olympics. Somebody has to win.

Competition makes the world go round, and starting this week, competition brings the world together to judge the best and to honor them.

People who've worked hard their whole lives, through hardship, through injury, through government pressure, through competition after competition, will put their best on the line.

And somebody has to lose.

I never was much of a competitor. I wasn't all that good at anything physically, so maybe it was a necessary defense, but I also found myself easing off a bit at Ping Pong, for example, if I could tell somebody wanted to win so badly it was killing them (yes, now all you who've beat me at Ping Pong must question the legitimacy of your victories!).

Music was the main extracurricular in my life. Though it can be competitive and there were the occasionally judged events, it is mostly complimentary. You sit there with your violin next to somebody else with one, across from a cellist and in front of others with drums, flutes, French horns and the like, and you all play your hardest and then everybody in the audience claps their appreciation. It's a win-win situation. You win by putting out your best and being complimented via applause, others win by being musically fed and expressing their enjoyment enthusiastically.

Athletics are different. You have to be faster, stronger, better, than the next guy or girl. And you win or you lose.

I'm glad we're supporting the Olympics. I'm glad Bush, in one of the moves of his I support, refused to consider a boycott. I'm glad nations of the world are coming together to honor sport and sportsmanship and work and success. I'm glad commentators will point out that just earning a spot in this particular competition is winning. I'm glad we'll hear so many inspiring stories of dedicated, highly-motivated, hard-working individuals.

I'm just sorry anyone has to lose.


















(Friendly games at family reunion - as close as I'm getting to competition this year!)