Two Takes On Perfectionism

  

Last week-end, I had the opportunity to spend some alone time with both Sage and Taggart, which I love because just being and doing with them leads to some pretty interesting conversations.  Take the weeding Sage and I were doing in the front of the house. It’s a fairly big bed and I hadn’t weeded it in a few weeks.  I think every tree seed in the neighborhood was beckoned to this spot – “Great place to grow up and raise kids! They basically leave you alone around here!!” Well, not today little seedlings. Ready or not, here we come.

There are at least a thousand little seedlings in the bed giving it the ole freshman try to become a tree.  And here we come. I’ve motivated her with a $3.00 prize for helping me eradicate any green in the bed that isn’t shrub or flower (I tried this on her brother too but he lasted about fifteen minutes, threw up his hands and said, “I’m fine with two bucks!” and he left us to our devices.)

So there Sage and I were, I’d sweetened the deal for her so she'd stay: “Four dollars for you for your stick-to-it-iveness, Sweetie!” She stayed. But she was wearing down too. “Mom, we don’t have to get every. single. weed.”  Me: “Well, I’d like to try. If we get them all now we can start with a clean slate.”  Her, emphatically: “Mom, it doesn’t have to be perfect.  Nothing can be perfect.  You always want everything to be perfect. We have people coming over and you want everything picked up and put away.  You want things perfect.  But nothing can be perfect Mom.”  She’s seven. She’s way smarter than me. I don’t tell her this. We keep weeding. We get almost all of them but I’m sure we didn’t get them all. 

She earned her $4.00 and then some (that wise, wise Sage) . . .

Forward 24 hours, and Taggart and I have spent the morning together since Jeff and Sage went to work in his parents’ garden. We are on the way to Taggart’s baseball practice and he asks, “Mom? Why do I always feel like I have to be perfect? Who do I get that from? I hate it.  If things aren’t perfect or I can’t do something exactly right, I get so mad at myself and just want to give up . . . Did I get it from Dad? . . . Uncle Chris? . . . Grammy? . . .”

Uhhhmmm . . . that would be me dear boy (Have you met your dad? Your uncle? Your Grammy??? Never could there be a lesser perfectionist – God bless you mom!).  And I’m so, so sorry that I’ve bequeathed you this. Perhaps it’s genetic? But perhaps not (note Sage above).  My answer to Taggart: “Honey, you get that from me.  I was the exact same way when I was growing up.  I wanted everything to be perfect.  Exactly right.  But let me tell you this. And it’ll be hard to hear it and even harder to understand.  Having to always be right and have things exactly the way you want is a very hard way to be. Because nothing is perfect. Nothing.  And if you are always trying to be perfect, it will set you up for a lot of frustration and unhappiness.  You can be right or you can be happy.  But if you are always focused on being right, you will rarely be happy. Not to mention, you’ll drive other people crazy. We need to shoot for perfectly imperfect. Perfect exactly as God made us – warts and all.”

And as if on cue, the song on the radio had a line that said something to the effect of: “I love all your perfect imperfections.”  We looked at each other, raised our eyebrows, and smiled. “See?” I said. Maybe he heard me. Maybe he gets it.  Nothing is perfect and yet, that moment was.  In that moment, I was both right and happy.  And so glad about that.

Sometimes I still fall off the “recovering perfectionist” wagon but I do my best to be mindful when it rears its ugly, all-or-nothing, take-no-prisoners head. And though it’s crystal clear that dear Sage will probably never have to join me at a PA (Perfectionists Anonymous) meeting, Taggart will most definitely need to come – most likely through an intervention! I’ll be there for Taggart – my sweet boy. I’ll save a spot for him. Because I so love him in all of his perfect imperfections.

Isn’t that what we all really need? To be seen and loved in our many imperfections? A lesson long in the making, learned the hard way, before we knew we had a choice:  Right or happy?  Most days, most of the time, happy’s for me. Unless the wheel falls off the wagon and I tumble out. Then, please help me up. Ask me what I need. Let’s brush the dust off and thank God for the reminder.

Back on the wagon, happily on our way, may we find our “rightness” there: full in the knowledge that we are whole, complete, and perfect, exactly as we are.

Summer's Whistle

It’s rolling ‘round the bend. I can see it in the not-so-far distance.  I can hear its whistle blowing. It’s coming. And won’t be stopped.  It’s fun. It’s hot. It’s busy. It’s a lotta kids, a lotta the time. And though I know, know, know I’m that person who desperately needs alone time (every day!), I can honestly say, I am really looking forward to summertime.

Its unstructured days, its rush-free mornings and stay-lighter, later nights. Fireflies at dusk, homegrown tomatoes from the garden, camping, swimming, hikes at the parks, bike rides on the greenways, snacks at Star Bagel, cookouts on the deck with families we love to hang out with, a trip to our beloved cottage in Northern Michigan . . . what could be better?

Well, there’s just one thing. And it’s a priority, albeit only to me. The one thing I know that could make that amazing list better costs nothing but means everything (to me). The secret ingredient? Just a little bit of “ME” time. And though it will take some doing, with the help of my alarm clock, some serious motivation to actually leave my warm, cozy bed, my coffee, and my kids’ cooperation, I’m going to pull this off. Yep, I’m gonna get up before the rest of the house most mornings and carve out an hour that is all my own. To write, to hope, to dream, to rant, to rail, to recharge, to be.

I announced my plan to the kids and my need for them to stay in their rooms until 7 a.m. during summer break. 7 a.m. people – still early in lots of families’ books.  But not these people! You would have thought I’d said I was locking them in there for three days with no food and water!! “We’ll starve!” Sage declares emphatically. I remind her that on most school mornings she tells me she’s not even hungry, that I have to coax her to eat eight blueberries and a piece of heavily buttered toast at 6:45 a.m. Just 15 minutes earlier than the 7 a.m. summer parole plan . . . to no avail.  She says, “Well, that’s just wrong. Not one bit fair. Taggart, can you believe what mom’s doing to us??”  And I’m like, believe it you dirty little (albeit adorable) rat!

Most days, most of the time - as so many moms can attest - what we do is about and for our kids and family. And, I’m all good with that (most of the time!).  But darn it if I can’t have one good hour – an hour that bodes better for the day ahead for all of us – without catching a little bit of grief.

But I’m at a place now where I know what I need. And I know this hour will do me (and them!) a world of good. It will set my day off on the right tone and the right note.  I can write, read my affirmations, and settle inside myself.  The hour allows me to be more mindful of what’s important to me and it’s from that centered space I plan to rock our summer.

It's whistling to us.  We’re racing toward it like dogs off their leashes bounding toward one another to say that happy hello. It’s going to be amazing. It’s going to be full of all the right things that each of us needs. It’s going to be rejuvenating. It’s going to be fun. (C’mon, say it all together now!) And I’m going to have my hour.  And they’re going to like it.

Because that will make me whistle too.

Hide and Seek

Friends, Family, Fellow Seekers,

If you've been looking for me and wondered where I've gone, I promise, I haven't been hiding!  But I have been seeking.   I have been busy researching ways to share my writing more broadly and to create more traffic to my blog.  Since singingheartpress.blogspot.com is not easy to remember or find, I decided to create my own website: meaghanmundy.com and I will continue writing and contributing to my blog  there. I would love for you to join me, support me, share posts you like with others,and give me feedback.  Having never created a website before, it's been a lot of fun and I will continue to add to content in the coming weeks.  Singing Heart Press products are also back and available for anyone who's interested. Thanks for reading and supporting my blog - the connections, feedback, and insights keep me going!  Since my dream is to be a writer (who actually gets paid to write!), there's lots of work to do: seeds to plant, saplings to nurture and protect, rain dances to partake in and sunshine to soak up!  I hope you'll visit my newly planted garden, sow some seeds, nurture them, and watch them grow.

Meet you there!

With love and thanks,

Meaghan

This Too Shall Pass

My grandmother, Virginia Belle Mundy, gave birth to eight children and has since survived the loss of four sons, a daughter, and her husband - my sweet, dear grandfather.  She and my grandfather were married 68 years at the time of his passing, which is almost incomprehensible in my little 12-years-and-counting married life.  Her favorite phrase, which covers the gambit of any problem or issue: “Honey, this too shall pass.” You have no idea how often I recite that to myself and picture my grandmother – strong, loyal, loving, resourceful – pressing on no matter what.

Because, honestly, what else is there to do?

Whatever trouble, turmoil, or issue is challenging you: this too shall pass. And, whatever good, happy, wonderful. life-affirming experience: this too shall pass. Such is life. So knowing this, our job is to live it. Because we only have days.  Days to do something amazing. Life-affirming. Earth-shattering. Days to do something ordinary (because sometimes you just need to pay the bills and clean the house!). Days to lament. Days to laugh. Or days to cry. Days to connect with others. Or to bury back into our beds and say, “Tomorrow’s another day – I’ll try again then.”

Here’s the thing: our days are ours; to spend in any way we see fit and choose. (Yes, even for those in a 9-5 grind of a job that may or may not be so fulfilling . . . those other 16 hours of the day are up for your choosing!) And the Truth, we only get so many days. The older I get, the clearer this understanding becomes.  Sometimes I even have to take the same tack with that very thought and say to myself “this too shall pass”. Because living in the awareness of finite time and trying to make the most of every minute of every day can get pretty darn heavy. Nonetheless, the dual awareness of “this too shall pass” and our numbered days lives in my peripheral consciousness most days. We have no choice but to be soldiers in the march of time.

For whom and what are you fighting? For my grandmother, it was always for her family.  No matter what. It’s an important thing for each of us to know. For whom and what are we fighting when we spend our days and time.  For me, it’s my kids, my family, and my dream to be a writer.  Noticing the details. Appreciating them. Not getting lost there. Getting it all down. Sharing. Being present.
As we think about our lives and how we are spending our time, it’s good to know that in every single year with which we are blessed, we have within those 365 days, a total of 525,600 minutes to fight the good fight. To leave a legacy. To make a difference. To love.

On Mother’s Day and everyday, when I think of my grandmother, I am inspired to press on no matter what and to simply love right through it. Let’s try and live in that knowing. Let’s keep fighting the good fight and finding ways to love one another (or at least bridging the divide!). Let’s dance to the march of time, like my grandmother, with grace, compassion, and acceptance.   And know that amidst all of life’s worries, beauty, and laughter, life goes on.

“This too shall pass.”

 And so it is.