The Quest for Imperfection

 I got an email today that my last hub was in May. May. It’s now October.

I spent last summer very focused on my kids; having faced the near break up of my family last year because of a variety of issues that all centered on lack of connectedness, I wanted to get and keep my priorities straight. Not once did I say no to cards or baseball or bike rides for the sake of work or the house. The three of us bonded in new and wonderful ways; only to have that cake frosted as all four of us spent three weeks on vacation. I worked on book ideas and proposals, read six books and all my magazines’ back issues, I trained for a half marathon, and even managed to spend some time with friends and extended family. In short, it was easily the best summer of my life.

When school started again I was completely out of sorts: I plugged along exhausted and emotionally drained until I remembered that I almost had a breakdown this very time last year because of the years and years I had spent saying, “I can’t find the time.” I missed writing. It’s my haven in the storm that is the life of a teacher and mother. But what happens when the storm is so, well, stormy, that I can’t find time to visit the haven? With twice as many students and half the prep time at school (thank you, California state government) I often feel like I’m drowning at work; with my own kids busier than ever with school and sports and scouts and projects, I can’t seem to find the time to do anything but keep up. How did this become my life? I set out to figure out a new plan.

For a week I tried getting up at four (instead of five) in the morning so I could write; unfortunately, instead of respite I only found even greater fatigue. I was ready for a nap by the time I got to school every day, I often took a nap while my kids watched PBS, and I couldn’t even talk with my husband after the kids went to bed at night because I often fell asleep with them. This was no way to live.

Attempt number two came while reading a book called, The Four Hour Workweek. While my profession would never allow such a concept, there were definitely things to take away, one being I needed to stop checking email compulsively; instead, I was charged to pick one or two times a day to do it and that’s it. It’s like a drug, this damn computer, and the withdrawls were honestly a little nasty. I had to literally smack myself every time I took a step toward the computer. Within a couple days however, I seemed to tame the beast. I became much more efficient at school, grading in down time which freed me up at least a little bit in the afternoons. I got home that first grading-reduced afternoon excited to write; however, the clarity of time and mind only brought me the sight of other things I had let go: namely, the sanitation of my house. The “second shift” never felt so real as in that moment. I set down to business and cleaned my troubles (or at least some of them) away.

Focus and fun with my kids, check; efficiency at work, check; home in a state of repair, check; spending time with husband every evening, check; personal and writing time, no dice. Dammit.

What am I not doing, was all I could think. Then, I heard the answer right there in my question: What am I NOT doing? I’m doing everything and as a result I have no room for anything else. In my quest for perfect motherhood, perfect home, perfect teacher…in my quest for perfection I have busied myself to maximum capacity. This whole don’t try to be perfect thing has been my journey from the womb it seems, and yet it never ceases to amaze me that every time I think I have it I find myself back in a situation saying the same thing.

I can let the kids help me fold the laundry; so what if it’s not folded “right?” I can let my husband fill the dishwasher; who cares if it’s not stacked “properly?” I can have my students wait an extra day for their grades and I can order in dinner if it means having a glass of wine with my husband instead of preparing the meal myself. I can write an article that doesn’t necessarily have a clean, neat ending and even publish that article if it means I write more often, unconsumed by making sure I’ve caught every typo and mastered all the words. If I am unafraid to make mistakes, even to fail, then I’m liberated. Better, I have space in between the activities for growth and joy and even the gratitude that comes from watching my two tiny kittens launch from the couch onto the bucking bronco that is my 80-pound dog.

As I write this very article the conclusion has come and, as I write this very article it seems this could be the most perfect I may have ever felt. One of life’s great ironies: to find perfection you must first let go of the attachment to achievement.

And with that realization the feeling of perfect imperfection fades. Letting go of the attachment to achievement may be more than I can tackle right now. At least now that I know how it feels to be liberated I can keep working on it, maybe even get to five minutes of it tomorrow. For now, I have to go check my email.