Beautiful Mistakes

This week's quote reads, "Anyone who always tries to do everything right might miss out on the most beautiful mistakes of their life."

As a recovering perfectionist, this quote hit hard. Back in the day, perfection was the goal and I would strive constantly to get there. But never quite did (of course). I have blogged about this before, here. These days, I have learned that "good enough" usually is just that - good enough. If I have made an (almost) invisible mistake in the latest crochet project, which doesn't make a difference to the overall look, I'll let it go.

The Japanese have a special term for imperfection in life: wabi-sabi. According to Wikipedia, "In traditional Japanese aesthetics, wabi-sabi centres on the acceptance of transience and imperfection. It is often described as the appreciation of beauty that is 'imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete'. It is prevalent in many forms of Japanese art." It goes on to say, "Wabi-sabi combines two interrelated concepts: wabi and sabi. According to the Stanford Encyclopaedia of Philosophy, wabi may be translated as 'subdued, austere beauty' and sabi as 'rustic patina'. ... Characteristic principles of wabi-sabi aesthetics and principles include asymmetry, roughness, simplicity, economy, austerity, modesty, intimacy, and the appreciation of natural objects and the forces of nature."

How can we apply this "acceptance of transience and imperfection" to our lives? Most of us find this a lot harder than the odd mistake in something we have created. And yet, change (which is another word for transience) is the only constant in our lives. No matter how hard we try to attain perfection, stasis, something will happen to knock us off balance. I think we somehow need to find the resilience to accept change and move on. 

I learned this lesson the hard way, through being a parent. As soon as my children were born, I strove to be the best parent I could possibly be, to give them the best childhood they could possibly have. And yet, I made every mistake in the book. I also constantly compared myself to other mothers, to my own detriment. Yet I finally learned the truth of the saying, "You can only give your children two things in life - roots to grow and wings to fly." I often found it the hardest thing in the world to stand back and let them go their own way, and learn from their experiences (and their mistakes). Knowing that, if I interfered, they wouldn't grow into their proper selves. Yet also knowing that if / when they did foul up, I would feel as guilty as hell for not intervening. In a way, it was the toughest test of my love for them - stepping back out of the centre of their lives and allowing them to become independent beings. I've been so lucky, that both (like me) have learned from their mistakes and  grown up into loving, caring, functional adults.

Perhaps loving well, and accepting (and learning from) our own imperfections, is the best any of us can do.

Edges and Corners

This week's quote reads, "Celebrate your edges and corners. Diamonds aren't round either."

This is a call to celebrate human diversity, our own individuality, in a world where uniformity, following the crowd, fitting in, seems to be prized above almost anything else.  We live in an age where being different, or dissenting from the views of the majority, invites censure rather than praise, more often than not. 

Yet fitting in is not the same as true belonging. Brené Brown explains the difference beautifully in her book, The Gits of Imperfection. She writes, "When we can let go of what other people think and own our story, we gain access to our own worthiness - the feeling that we are enough just as we are and that we are worthy of love and belonging. When we spend a lifetime trying to distance ourselves from the parts of our lives that don't fit with who we think we're supposed to be, we stand outside of our story and hustle for our worthiness by constantly performing, perfecting, pleasing, and proving. Our sense of worthiness - that critically important pieces that gives us access to love and belonging - lives inside of our story."

It takes courage to live authentically, with our edges and corners on show. The temptation to soften, blunt those edges and corners can be strong, as we strive to find a place in the world where we belong. Because being the odd one out, the one who doesn't "fit", hurts. It hurts a lot. People can be very cruel if our difference is on display. I know that in a small way from a childhood spent wearing patched glasses, and so a recipient of taunts in the playground. I was always chosen last for any games team, because my defective eyesight meant I "lost" the ball coming towards me. Many people have suffered, and continue to suffer, far worse than this, on account of their sexuality, the colour of their skin, their neurodivergence, to name but a few areas of "difference".

But like Brené says, "when we spend a lifetime trying to distance ourselves from the parts of our lives that don't fit with who we think we're supposed to be, we stand outside of our story and hustle for our worthiness."

Yet human diversity is a gift, not a curse. Or it should be. Somewhere out there, there are people whose edges and corners fit with ours, who have come to terms with their own edges and corners.  When we find them, they allow the diamonds that we are to shine brightly.

A Burst of Courage

 This week's quote reads, "It's time for a burst of courage again."

Our world, it seems, is going to hell in a handbasket, to use a well-worn, but sadly accurate, cliché. Too many parts of the world are experiencing war and violence, with all their dreadful consequences, and wide swathes of the rest are subject to "natural" disasters (for many are climate-change induced, which isn't natural, not really) - floods, wildfires, hurricanes, and droughts, leading to widespread hardship. Not only for human beings, but for all living things. In many places, the people in power are persecuting those less powerful than themselves, with dreadful consequences.

So it's time for a burst of courage again. It's time to stand up for all the persecuted minorities, for our beleaguered planet. Time not to merely shake our heads sadly and turn the page or scroll on down. Time to get out and actually do something about it, however small. Because every little helps. Whether it is a letter to our MP, signing a petition, donating to a charity which helps to alleviate whatever the problem is. These are all easy things, which may be done from the comfort of our own home.

It is harder to make a sea-change in our own lives - to be like the Good Samaritan, to not "walk by on the other side." It takes courage and commitment to take part in a public protest; to resolve to shop ethically, rather than as cheaply as possible; to buy only what we need, rather than what the adverts seduce us into believing we need; to repair worn belongings rather than throwing them away; to go on a regular litter pick in our neighbourhood; to visit someone lonely; to have a smile and a friendly word for strangers; to volunteer at the local food bank or other local charity; to stand up for someone being bullied; and, most importantly, to treat every human being as though they were "unique, precious, a child of God" as the Quakers have it. Because they are, each and every one of them / us.

Wishing, Dreaming, Doing

This week's quote consists of three injunctions: "Wish it, dream it, do it!"

According to my trusty Concise Oxford Dictionary, each of those verbs has a different meaning, and could be described as steps along a road. To wish is to "have a desire or aspiration" or "want with the kind of desire that affects the result". To dream is to "have visions", "believe possible", "contemplate the possibility of." To do is to "perform, carry out, effect, complete, bring to pass."

So wishing for something is the first step. Our desire or aspiration may be simple, "I wish I could lose ten pounds" or  "I wish I could finish writing my novel" or complicated, "I wish I could do something about climate change."

The next step is dreaming, when our mind begins to ruminate about how we might achieve our wish, whatever it is. This is when we contemplate various possibilities - the research phase, if you like. We might investigate different diets, think about joining a gym or going for a daily walk, or consider how we might carve out some time each day to write. Or we might start to follow news stories about people and agencies who are working to combat climate change, and learn about how we might (in whatever way) make a difference.

The final step is doing, when we move from the theoretical to the practical - we give up sugar, do some exercise, set our alarm an hour earlier so that we have time to write before work. Or we might join a climate activist group, go on a demonstration, lobby our MP, make a commitment to use only eco-friendly products in our home, recycle more, repair things instead of throwing them away.

Most of us need to go through this three-step process before we actually commit to "doing", the most important of the three steps. Yet the first two, "wishing" and "dreaming" are also important, as without them, we might never get to the "doing" phase. And the fire they have lit in our souls may keep us going in hard times, when the diet has plateaued, we're suffering from writer's block, and our governments are still not taking climate change seriously. Very few people have the motivation to carry on trying their best, without wishes and dreams to bolster them.

Our Favourite Song

 This week's quote reads, "Life is not a wish concert, but sometimes it plays your favourite song."

Which I suppose means that sometimes, our heart's desire will happen... the part about playing your favourite song reminded me of being a teenager, when Radio 1 would be playing on the bus on the way to school and back again, and the joy of hearing my current favourite single - whether that was by T. Rex, David Bowie, Status Quo or Queen, to name but a few - during the short journey, rather than other tracks I disliked. Because of course in those days, before mobile phones and apps such as Spotify, we were very much at the mercy of what the radio DJs chose to play. (I'm so old that this was even before the invention of Sony Walkmans [Walkmen??] - it was the radio or nothing).The worst case scenario was a journey filled with music I disliked, the best case scenario was the opposite. But it was out of my control. 

Taken less literally, I guess it is talking about moments of grace, when something marvellous happens when we are least expecting it. Perhaps we are walking under a cloud-covered sky, and the sun comes out, and the world is transformed. Or we open our e-mails, and there is good news about the health of a loved one. Or our book is accepted for publication... there are so many small joys to be savoured and appreciated, so many "favourite songs" which are waiting for us to wake up and listen to them.

Sometimes, it is more about finding the silver lining (to coin a cliché) in an unpleasant situation... which happened to me as recently as yesterday. I was on my way back home from the Nightingale Centre in the Peak District, after a rich and nourishing Ministerial Fellowship Conference, when the front right tyre on my car blew out at speed on the M1. Luckily I managed to get to the hard shoulder safely and, double-luckily, we are members of a breakdown service, so all I needed to do was ring them up and wait to be recovered. The downside was, it took two solid hours from the moment I rang them to the moment the breakdown truck arrived. I moved to the passenger side of the car, because passing lorries were coming alarmingly close to my car and making it rock and sway. I was not a happy bunny!

Silver linings: while I was waiting, the call-centre guy from Autohome rang me twice to check I was still okay and safe, and an officer of the Highways Agency also stopped to check the same. I really appreciated their kindness and care. And (crucially) I had my Kindle with me, and an interesting book to read.... But I was very glad to get home (especially as I had decided to skip lunch to get home an hour earlier!).

Keeping Our Balance

 This week's quote reads, "To keep your balance, you must keep moving."

Nope. Sorry, whoever wrote this, I don't agree. In order to find our balance, and then maintain it, the first necessity is stillness. Or at least, that is what I have found.

Because if we are constantly moving, how are we to find any kind of still centre? For most of us, the first half of life (and probably later than that) is all about keeping moving - about discovering who we are, what we love, what we're good at, finding our "tribe" of people, whether those be family, friends, our faith or some other community, or a mixture of all of them. The first half of life is all about striving, achieving, moving on, moving up, moving, moving.

Successful people can run away from themselves for years. They (and I count my younger self among them) skate across the surface of their lives, achieving, dazzling. It often takes some traumatic event (the loss of a loved one, or a devastating failure) to bring us up short. When this happens (and it generally does, at some point in our lives) our balance is lost and we find that there is no still centre around which we can regain it.

If we are lucky (and I was) there will be some wise friend or mentor around to give us advice. Which, for many of us, will be to stop moving, to sit in silence, to simply be. I have found that this (together with walking alone in nature) are the only ways of keeping my balance, and of discovering a new balance, a quiet centre. I was afraid of loneliness for much of my life and found the company of people infinitely preferable. But I believe that my decisions to quit smoking and drinking, combined with my interior spiritual journey in the early 2010s (still continuing) helped me to welcome solitude as a time to think, to reflect, to spend time in my own company, to come nearer to the Divine. These days, when I spend too much time in the company of too many people, I need a lot of time alone to come back to myself, to regain my balance.

True extroverts will find this hard to understand, but introverts and ambiverts will be reading with little cries of recognition. I'm not saying "I want to be alone" like Greta Garbo, but that I need a balance between being with people and being on my own. These days, I have found a balance I am comfortable with: I like to spend most of my daytime hours alone, working, or writing, or crocheting, but enjoy coming back into congenial company during the evening, with Maz and Luna. I love spending time with my best friend, and with my close family, but drop back into my customary routine with - no, relief is the wrong word. It is like slipping one's feet into a pair of comfortable slippers and sitting in one's favourite armchair, deeply relaxed, after a busy day.

How do you keep your balance?

           

Coping Badly

This week's blogpost nearly didn't happen: I am staying up in the Lake District with my best friend, and have forgotten to bring my computer mouse with me. I have my laptop, but no mouse. And I am finding it incredibly difficult, and teeth-grindingly frustrating, to use the laptop's tracking pad. I even had to ask my friend what it is called!

Which has made me realise what a creature of habit I am. With my mouse, I scroll down effortlessly, place the cursor at any spot I choose without effort, and generally just get on with whatever I'm writing. But I am having to laboriously learn how to move around a document, how to copy and paste, how to scroll down, all accompanied with much cursing. Nothing is labelled and I have to guess where to click on the tracking pad to get it to do what I need it to. Grrr!

Most of you will probably be laughing at my incompetence, yet the frustration is real. I have no desire to learn this new skill - I'm used to my mouse, and will return to it on Sunday with little coos of joy.

It has been a salutary reminder that the only constant in life is change and that I need to keep up, and somehow embrace it, rather than reacting so negatively, as I have this morning. I am embarrassed that the lack of a mouse has thrown me for such a loop - I had thought I was more adaptable. I can remember learning how to use a mouse in the early 1990s - my son was three and we had just bought our first home PC. There was a little game, consisting of putting a jigsaw of four pieces together, using the mouse, which my son mastered effortlessly, but I found so difficult.... 

So I have persevered, and this blogpost is the result.