Practicing Imperfection

For as long as I can remember I've been a perfectionist. My father always reiterated to me that "if something's worth doing, it's worth doing right," words that still echo in my day-to-day life. Perhaps it was my tendency towards compulsive order and obsessive organization, but for some reason I interpreted those words as, "if something's worth doing, it's worth doing the best."

My life path so far has taught me that balance is key in all areas of life, which is why, lately, I'm trying to turn my attention towards insatiable need for control that finds me grappling in the dark, desperately searching for a perfect world that doesn't exist.

I know I'm not alone... women, I believe, by nature have a tendency towards a mental disconnect that happens between the dreaming, the planning, the expectation, and the actuality. This is the reason that some brides just about lose it from the planning of their own wedding - they want perfection and have such a white-fisted grip on the idea of control that they nearly meltdown and on the big day, their head is lost somewhere in the details. I think we all have varying degrees of this characteristic - and for some of us, perhaps it only shows its face during major events that we've spent years idealizing and dramatizing in our minds. A healthy dose of fantasy never hurt anyone, especially if it doesn't interfere with your enjoyment of the real thing.

My problem? I tend to want to control even the little stupid things that don't matter. For example: the order of the cups from tall to small in the cupboard. The amount of books in my to-read stack. The exact schedule and list of events that will occur on my day off. The number of years until I finally have my life figured out... You get the idea. The point is, the cups in the cupboard always be in a different order, my to-read stack will continue to grow, my day-off will never be as productive as I imagine it, and no one ever really has life figured out.

I was reading recently in my Yoga Journal magazine about the concept of transience. Part of yoga philosophy embraces the recognition that all things will, and are, changing, evolving, even falling apart - and into something else. It is the very nature of the planet that all things grow and die, then grow into something else, then die again, and so on. Nothing ever stays exactly the same. In the article, a man who was going through a particularly difficult moment in his life witnessed a group of monks spend 5 days patiently, diligently, from morning to night, carefully construct a colored-sand mosaic. He watched them meticulously, while hunched over but never complaining, sort the tiny granuals into a beautiful peice of art that - once finished - would be blown away, each grain of sand becoming something else. Similarly, John and I watched a documentary about the artist Andy Goldsworthy - a Scottish sculptor who works only with natural materials, and creates amazing work that by nature, is impermanent. His work included forming ice scuptures from melting icicles, strings of leaves flowing down a stream, or intricate piles of collected branches that would eventually wash - in a cylindrical demise - away to sea.

Both the monks' and Goldsworthy's art is about appreciating the process, allowing that process to evolve into something unanticipated, and celebrating the impermanance and imperfection of life.

To expect myself to snap out of it and magically stop trying to control every moment of my life would be taking a step backwards - it would be trying to control my need for control. Like all work on the self, it takes time, patience, and continual reassessment.

For the moment, I'm working on trying to trust myself and my path, recognizing and appreciating each thread of life without having to know where it's weaving me or without seeing the greater context of the whole tapestry. Instead, just enjoying each colorful place I come to and trying to remember that "this too, shall pass..." and that is what makes it so beautiful.