My kids love to play spy. Our latest kick is watching Spy Kids then setting up obstacles and traps like a ‘real’ spy. They are obsessed with building the perfect trap. There are drawings and construction and tests. The results have not been great so far, but they believe the perfect trap is surely within their reach. I struggle to find a way to tell them that the perfect trap does not exist and pursuing it will suck the joy from this adventure.
I know this because I am a recovering perfectionist.
As I stand looking at my living room, I am smacked with the reality of my imperfection. It is a disaster. Seven loads of laundry need folding; kids toys are shoved under the couch; dusting is a distant memory. The rest of my house provides no solace from my imperfections. I am not perfect.
I have read hundreds of articles and tips that promise me perfection in only a few minutes. All I need are a few more baskets and 30 minutes. Perfection is around the corner if only I tried a little harder. I am not perfect.
I look at Pinterest and think, ‘Oh, I could do that with a little more effort.’ I see the meals, the workouts, the projects, the gardens, the kid’s activities, and they are all more than what I do. Perfection eludes me in each of the categories. It taunts me with beautiful snapshots from far away homes. Again, I am not perfect.
Everyone strives to be better. Self-improvement is a powerful tool. However, the journey of self-improvement often detours to the road of self-destruction. There is always room for improvement. I can always do more and do better. I am not perfect.
Perfection and its pursuit trap me. I will never develop a system that is good enough or own enough baskets to make my house magazine worthy. I will never make, do, achieve, or even read everything I pin. I am not perfect.
If I am not careful I will forget the excellence in our family and in the job I do. My kids know how to clean their own bathroom because I am not perfect. My kids understand that there is usually time for just a little more play or joy because I am not perfect. They know that helping is important and can see with empathy when others need help because I am not perfect. They know how to apologize and accept an apology with grace because I am not perfect.
For now their joy is in the pursuit of a perfect trap, not in the actual perfection of the trap. I am happy to leave my pile of laundry, my empty baskets, my pinterest woes, to find the joy in pursuit. I am not perfect, but I am happy.
I know this because I am a recovering perfectionist.
As I stand looking at my living room, I am smacked with the reality of my imperfection. It is a disaster. Seven loads of laundry need folding; kids toys are shoved under the couch; dusting is a distant memory. The rest of my house provides no solace from my imperfections. I am not perfect.
I have read hundreds of articles and tips that promise me perfection in only a few minutes. All I need are a few more baskets and 30 minutes. Perfection is around the corner if only I tried a little harder. I am not perfect.
I look at Pinterest and think, ‘Oh, I could do that with a little more effort.’ I see the meals, the workouts, the projects, the gardens, the kid’s activities, and they are all more than what I do. Perfection eludes me in each of the categories. It taunts me with beautiful snapshots from far away homes. Again, I am not perfect.
Everyone strives to be better. Self-improvement is a powerful tool. However, the journey of self-improvement often detours to the road of self-destruction. There is always room for improvement. I can always do more and do better. I am not perfect.
Perfection and its pursuit trap me. I will never develop a system that is good enough or own enough baskets to make my house magazine worthy. I will never make, do, achieve, or even read everything I pin. I am not perfect.
If I am not careful I will forget the excellence in our family and in the job I do. My kids know how to clean their own bathroom because I am not perfect. My kids understand that there is usually time for just a little more play or joy because I am not perfect. They know that helping is important and can see with empathy when others need help because I am not perfect. They know how to apologize and accept an apology with grace because I am not perfect.
For now their joy is in the pursuit of a perfect trap, not in the actual perfection of the trap. I am happy to leave my pile of laundry, my empty baskets, my pinterest woes, to find the joy in pursuit. I am not perfect, but I am happy.
0 Comments
RSS Feed
