“It’s a bad day, not a bad life…”
The Pandemic has been teaching us a lot of hard lessons, every single one of us. I’m no exception. This last year I’ve been doing things I don’t normally do, things I’m not always comfortable with. Driving, for one. For years I didn’t drive, though I kept my license up, mostly because when I was single it was the choice between owning a cheap vehicle that I’d have to keep paying to fix and park and gas up, or rent for a decent apartment and having some savings. I chose the neighborhoods I did partly out of love or civic virtue, but also for decent mass transit or walkability to stores, work, friends. That instinct paid off in the beginning of the Pandemic, since mass transit became less safe , and happily I could walk to my job for a while. But once my sweetheart had his stroke, I was the only one that could drive, which scared me since I was so out of practice. It also scared me because when I was young I lost a family member to a bad car accident, and it imprinted on my young brain early on that Driving Was Serious Scary Stuff. So every time I got into the car, my first feeling is always a deep sinking in my stomach and a quiet voice going, “Ohhhh shit oh shit oh shit…”
I’ve gotten better, with some practice. But I’m still really nervous, even with small victories like Parking Garages and Driving In Uptown and A Decent Parallel Parking Job. I keenly feel my imperfections. I had a minor meltdown when I got done with a driving run to Matt’s doctor’s appointment because I ran an unexpected stop sign because a streetlight was out. Lucky me, nothing bad happened, but I felt so disappointed in myself. It took me a while to realize that today was the anniversary of that family member’s death, so naturally driving was going to freak me out a little more than usual. It helps a bit knowing that. And that imperfection doesn’t have to be tied to things like mortality…
This fear of imperfection happens in other things I do. Paintings, embroideries, yarns, knitting. Sometimes projects just go wrong. Sometimes it’s an easy fix, sometimes it’s just time to throw in the towel for a while, stuff it in a bag and forget about it until you’ve got the strength to look at it again. But it used to be so much worse. Oddly enough, I have the Pandemic to thank for that switch in how I approach all of that now. When it really kicked in how much trouble we all were in and how long we would be locked down, I looked at a lot of my art supplies, stuff I was “saving for something good” and said to myself, “Well? You have to start using it up now, because there’s a good chance you may not get the opportunity to later if things go badly.” And it didn’t matter as much if I messed something up. If I didn’t do something with what I had, it wouldn’t get done at all. When Matt got sick, I had a similar thought that kept coming back.”So what if you made a crappy dinner, or didn’t park perfectly at the doctor, or any of that? It’s better than nobody doing it at all, isn’t it?”
So even though I struggle with the concept of imperfection, that’s my mantra now. Even if it’s a hot mess, it’s way better than nothing at all. Things will improve. You will improve. I will improve. And if we don’t, that’s going to have to be okay, because there’s not a lot of choices sometimes. Perfection can be the enemy of the good. Don’t let it be your enemy too…
(Edit: In this post, I’m using the phrase, “Perfection is the enemy of the good” outside of it’s original context. While I appreciate it’s original message, personally it’s a message that isn’t doing me any favors lately, so I chose to flip it on it’s head. It seemed to confuse a few of my readers, so I figured I’d address it with an explanation. And also…imperfection. That’s me, all right…)