I am in an epic battle. With myself.
The good news is that it means I am winning. Unfortunately it also means that I am losing, so the win doesn’t really seem that triumphant.
Here’s the problem. I know that I can’t be (nor do I actually want to be) perfect, but there is this little, itty-bitty, tiny, niggling part of me that absolutely demands it.
Whenever I don’t get the results that I want it yells at me like a tiny drill sergeant screaming, “That’s not OK! You’ve failed! FAILED I SAY! You are DOOMED to be a FAILURE FOREVAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!”
The drill sergeant really is a mean little bugger.
So, the little drill sergeant is planted squarely on one of my shoulders, while the other shoulder is inhabited by a willowy Earth Mother-type saying in slow, languid tones, “Oh, Shannon my dear, its oooookaaaaay. You did your best, and next time will be even better!”
The two of them are constantly at odds and go back and forth, and back and forth. I prefer listening to the Earth Mother; she is calm, soothing and reassuring. But the drill sergeant is so loud that he is impossible to ignore all the time.
And so rages the battle. It’s more a battle of words than the actual clang of weapons, but I sometimes wish the Earth Mother would get off of her haunches, march over to my other shoulder, and kick the drill sergeant off! Why does he insist on perfection? And why is he there at all…I’ve never been even close to perfect – he should have given up on me LONG ago!
And the weird thing is, the harder he pushes me to be perfect, the less perfect I become. It’s actually been the times in my life that I’ve decided to stop trying so hard (not quit, mind you. I’m not a quitter) that I’ve actually done my best. It’s these moments, I suppose, the Earth Mother was able to clamp her hand over the Drill Sergeant’s mouth long enough to give me a brief reprieve from his incessant goading.
Perhaps it is the freedom to fail that allows me to succeed.
Wow. That. Was. DEEP.
(Disclaimer: Try not to be intimidated by my profound insight. It was a brief moment of clarity and I promise, those are few and far between)
So, Drill Sergeant, I hope you are reading this. I am prepared to fail. And I don’t want you to make me cry or feel bad about myself anymore. Do you hear me? No more making me feel bad. Not cool, Drill Sergeant, not cool.
I think I may see a white flag of truce waving right now. Let’s hope it lasts.
The good news is that it means I am winning. Unfortunately it also means that I am losing, so the win doesn’t really seem that triumphant.
Here’s the problem. I know that I can’t be (nor do I actually want to be) perfect, but there is this little, itty-bitty, tiny, niggling part of me that absolutely demands it.
Whenever I don’t get the results that I want it yells at me like a tiny drill sergeant screaming, “That’s not OK! You’ve failed! FAILED I SAY! You are DOOMED to be a FAILURE FOREVAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!”
The drill sergeant really is a mean little bugger.
So, the little drill sergeant is planted squarely on one of my shoulders, while the other shoulder is inhabited by a willowy Earth Mother-type saying in slow, languid tones, “Oh, Shannon my dear, its oooookaaaaay. You did your best, and next time will be even better!”
The two of them are constantly at odds and go back and forth, and back and forth. I prefer listening to the Earth Mother; she is calm, soothing and reassuring. But the drill sergeant is so loud that he is impossible to ignore all the time.
And so rages the battle. It’s more a battle of words than the actual clang of weapons, but I sometimes wish the Earth Mother would get off of her haunches, march over to my other shoulder, and kick the drill sergeant off! Why does he insist on perfection? And why is he there at all…I’ve never been even close to perfect – he should have given up on me LONG ago!
And the weird thing is, the harder he pushes me to be perfect, the less perfect I become. It’s actually been the times in my life that I’ve decided to stop trying so hard (not quit, mind you. I’m not a quitter) that I’ve actually done my best. It’s these moments, I suppose, the Earth Mother was able to clamp her hand over the Drill Sergeant’s mouth long enough to give me a brief reprieve from his incessant goading.
Perhaps it is the freedom to fail that allows me to succeed.
Wow. That. Was. DEEP.
(Disclaimer: Try not to be intimidated by my profound insight. It was a brief moment of clarity and I promise, those are few and far between)
So, Drill Sergeant, I hope you are reading this. I am prepared to fail. And I don’t want you to make me cry or feel bad about myself anymore. Do you hear me? No more making me feel bad. Not cool, Drill Sergeant, not cool.
I think I may see a white flag of truce waving right now. Let’s hope it lasts.
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