I had no idea I was a perfectionist until I was in my late thirties.  To be a perfectionist, I thought a person had to actually achieve some perfection, and I knew that I never even came close.  But that is exactly what a perfectionist is:  someone who is obsessed with their flaws.  Perfectionists aren’t really perfectionists; they are “mistakeists;” They can see only what is wrong with the picture, never fully enjoying anything they have created because they are living inside its imperfections.

I’ve been told the Navahos deliberately include a flaw in their blankets because they know they are only human and don’t want to offend Great Spirit by seeking perfection.  I don’t know if this is true, but the thought of intentionally keeping an error, holding an error as sacred, as a gift of humility – well, I like this idea a lot.  It comforts me and helps me surrender a bit of my perfectionism whenever I am lucky enough to uncover it.  (I can never surrender it all because if I tried to surrender all of my perfectionism, I would be stuck in perfectionism again.)

This poem captures a rather mundane moment in my life as I was standing at my kitchen sink cleaning the bottom of an electric skillet.  I include it here as part of unpacking my personal baggage because I think my suffering over not being able to get the bottom of this skillet clean reveals how perfectionism weaves its way into our everyday lives, stealing our joy.

You are standing at the sink washing dishes, gazing out the window into your postage-stamp sized backyard. You are thirty-one, married, with two small, healthy children. You are a teacher; your husband is a teacher. You have everything you ever dreamed of having.

But the bottom of the used electric skillet you bought at Goodwill haunts you.   If only you could get it to shine, maybe your life would shine. Maybe you would have at last done it right. Maybe you would be able to see, in the reflection of the scoured frying pan, a validation for your life, a validation for the choices you have made.

You feel bullied by the bottom of this electric skillet, and you are ashamed of being so weak. You are sure you will never tell anyone about this moment.

The bottoms of all your other pots must shine too, every bit of baked-on food removed. They must glow like new, preferably hanging from a rack over the stove, their copper bottoms shining,  reflecting to the world your right to breathe.

The view from the window above the sink also accuses you. Where there were blackberry vines only a year ago, flowers now grow. You dug out those prickly vines the summer before your son was born, your body bloated by the nine-pound boy you were carrying. Standing on swollen feet, wearing silly little girl maternity clothes, you chopped and piled and dug, sweat dripped into your eyes.

The blackberry vines used to cover your fence. Now, after all of your work, you see that the fence sags. You can see with clarity, through your kitchen window that needs washing, the flower beds your husband so painstakingly double dug.

But the flowers are all wrong, you think, just rows of dahlias and zinnias. There is no art in it, just stupid color.

“How can anyone wreck a flower garden?” you wonder. You aren’t sure how this could be done, but you are sure you have done it. You can’t even plant a flower garden correctly.

And besides that, the yard is still uneven, small.   The ground, rough and sloping.   The cement on the patio is cracked.

“You are a professional,” you think, “married to a professional.   Why are you living like losers?”

Maybe if the bottom of the frying pan is shiny enough, the past will crumble with the crud as it swirls down the drain.

Then you see the scratches on your stainless steel sink, The permanent scratches that you did not even make, and you know it is hopeless. You know for sure you are too scratched, too covered in decades of grime. You will never shine again.

Once we own our personal baggage, magic can happen.  We can be free of the tyranny of taking everything personally: rejection, abandonment, criticism.  When it is not personal, when our right to inhabit the planet is not at stake, then we can play with life as a metaphor, as a dream.  We can let life be our teacher instead of our jailer.

If it’s not personal,
these unreturned phone calls from friends,
these unreciprocated invitations,
this lack of feedback –
all this seeming rejection –
if it’s not personal
then I don’t have to make any final decisions
about my value as a human being
and the limits of what’s possible for me.

If my pain is not personal,
then my lower-middle-class alcoholic upbringing
hasn’t put me in a bubble that suffocates my dreams.
My future is mine to create,
and the best may still be yet to come.

If this doubt and fear isn’t my personal pathology,
then I don’t have to worry about any pattern repeating endlessly
for the rest of my life.
If it’s not personal,
then this too shall pass.
The seven years of drought will be replaced by seven years of bounty.

If it’s not personal,
then it’s not personal.
It’s not stuck to my personality.
I don’t have to die to escape it.

If it’s not personal,
then it isn’t following me,
stalking me,
like some comet’s tail
or my shadow,
Jungian or solar.

If it’s not personal,
then I can stay alive
instead of drowning in the Slough of Despair.
I will be ready when the ship comes,
or the fishing boat,
or the yacht,
or when I find shore
and shelter
and coconuts to eat and drink.

If it’s not personal,
then all I have to do is survive
with as much joy as I can muster,
or, rather,
as much joy as I can let curl around my feet
or purr into my ear.

If it’s not personal,
then what am I supposed to learn from this ache in my belly?
Aye, there’s the rub.
Once I start looking for “supposed to’s”
I am trapped again in taking it personally.

So, if I don’t take my pain and doubt personally,
what is my next step?

I will get back to basics.
I will live one day at a time.
I will ask myself how I feel and what I want.
I will take a breath and take the next step right in front of me.
I will pay attention to the inklings and nudges I am feeling.

I surrender now to this mysterious vortex of doubt.
I let the howling swirl take me where it will –
perhaps into a shaman’s death,
again,
and yet again.

Amen.

© 2006 Vicki Hannah Lein

This poem was born in Africa at an an Association for International Schools of Africa conference.  My institute was titled “Teaching the Dignity of Difference.”  As I explored this issue with the participants, we talked of creating a safe environment to discuss what a true man is.  This poem was inspired by my husband, Murray, and the other men of the conference who embody so much of what this poem is about.

How much good can one good man do?

A lot of good.
One good man,
a man who feels fear yet acts courageously,
creates a contagious positive vibration,
bringing a force of goodness into every room he enters.

One good man,
a man who knows that the means are the ends,
sets a standard of honorable behavior
and invites everyone to join him.

How much good can one good man do?

One good man,
a man who isn’t afraid of fear,
a man who isn’t afraid to love with tenderness,
a man who isn’t afraid to admit he is wrong,–
this one good man creates a chain reaction so powerful
it echoes through generations.

One good man,
a man who teaches boys how to be men
and girls how to be strong,
transforms the ‘battle of the sexes”
into a delightful exploration of cerebral diversity.

One good man can heal centuries of wounds,
breaking the cycles of Poverty,
Ignorance,
Crime,
and Addiction.

One good man,
a Gandhi,
a Martin Luther King,
a Nelson Mandela,
a Donald,
a Murray –

one good man changes the face of the earth forever.

And so does one good woman.

Blessings and Thanks!

Vicki

Jamie Sam’s, in her book Sacred Path Cards, combines Native American wisdom into a deck of cards. It is from these cards I got the phrase “courage to be disliked,” a phrase I used in one of my songs– “Sing My Song.”

I have never turned to these cards and been disappointed. Whichever card I draw, sometimes the same card over and over again, turns out to be just what I need to hear, just the wisdom I need to connect to Great Spirit and surrender to Great Mystery.

One of the cards in the deck is called Shaman’s Death. I won’t go into the history of this ritual, which is included in the book, but I will tell you what the application means to me.

When we are experiencing our own Shaman’s Death, we are asked to let go of everything we think we know. We are asked to be reborn. This process can be painful because we humans are clingers. We like our stuff, whether it’s our physical material goods such as our homes and our favorite chair, or whether it’s cherished beliefs about how life should be.

Right now I am in the midst of the Shaman’s Death. It is unnerving. I would prefer to be having a peak experience, that feeling of being on top of a mountain and seeing all the beautiful vistas and having clarity about who I am and what I’m meant to do in the world and which steps I need to take next.

I will have that glorious feeling again. But not now. Now it’s about letting go. It’s about having Beginners Mind. It’s about approaching being 60 years old, having gray hair and wrinkles, in a time of great turmoil globally, and wondering what it all means.

It’s about having invested a great deal of time, energy, and money this past year trusting Experts. I’ve had a vision of what I’m capable of doing in the world, how I’m being called to serve the world, and I made the decision a year ago to do whatever it takes to manifest that vision.

Because I am the keeper of promises, once I committed to manifesting this dream, once I put my trust in the hands of Experts, I give it my best shot.  But the results have been more like buckshot, as if I accidentally shot in the mirror and it’s all come back at me.  This past year has been one of slow exhaustion physically, emotionally, and financially. There are many entrepreneurs out there who are in the same boat.

I’m not complaining. When we are committed to a spiritual journey, we don’t get to be in charge of how every single moment feels. I guess I don’t believe in the Law of Attraction the way some people do. I don’t believe we can control everything that happens to us, and I don’t believe we’re supposed to be able to control everything that happens to us.

If there’s somebody out there who knows how to do that, please heal our planet, stop all wars and other violence, teach people to listen, stop all ridicule and shaming, and allow women all over the world to develop as fully as they wish.  And, I’d also like more sunny days in Oregon, if that wouldn’t mess up the planet too much.

So right now I’m not sure of much of anything. I’m sure I’m a very lucky person, well loved and well cared for. I have a partner in life who is there for me during the peaks and can give me space to go through these valleys sloppily if necessary. He listens, he understands, supports, gives wisdom, and makes me laugh in the midst of my pity-fullness. I am rich beyond belief.

So what’s in this for you?

I’m trusting Synchronicity right now. I’m trusting that my being willing to write about the yuckier parts of this journey will help other people do the same. I’m hoping other people will say to themselves, “That Vicky! She’s usually so energetic and positive, and yet she has these periods of disintegration and doubt. Maybe that’s a natural part of an authentic journey. Maybe when I feel this way I can trust that it’s okay, or I can trust that I will get through this part and that I’m not the only person who’s ever gone through this.”

Right now my Dinosaur Voice inside me is telling me I’m boring, self-indulgent, narcissistic, and I’m making a fool of myself. “No one will want to know you or be friends with you, or ever hire you as a motivational speaker or as a coach when they know you can feel weak and vulnerable.” If this is true, so be it.

Integrity is a bitch

I made a commitment many years ago to living my life in integrity. I wanted to create a family and give my children what I did not have as a child. I wanted to get a masters degree and learn how to teach people to craft their lives no matter what their circumstances. I wanted to travel the world and get to know people of different cultures. I have done all of this

What is next? How long will this Shaman Death process take? Who will I be when it ends, if it ends?

I don’t know. I do know that when each of us faces another Shamans Death in our lives, when we lose jobs, or our homes, or someone dies, or someone gets sick–when we feel like we’ve been doing everything right and the world betrays us–this is the time we need to hold hands.

If this article is resonating with you, find a hand to hold. You can find it in a book, a song, a friend–you can Google your dream. Please know you are not alone in this process, we’ve never been alone, and you never will be alone. There are plenty of people, including everyone you’ve ever thought completely had it all together, all figured out–everyone goes through this process–or they become an addict to avoid it.

The only way out is through. But we don’t have to do it alone.

Stephen Covey, in his book Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, emphasizes the importance of taking care of the Goose that Lays the Golden Eggs. He says we need to take the time and set the intention to care for what is most precious in our lives. We can’t just look at the production of the Golden Eggs; we need to take care of that Goose.

We kill the Goose when we over-fish, overgraze, over-plant, over-log, overbuild, over eat, and over-busy our lives. The hills of Lebanon used to be covered with a forest of cedar trees. Our oceans used to have 90% more big fish. We have not taken care of our soil, and our food contains a fraction of the nutrients it used to. This not taking care of the Goose isn’t just personal–it’s a global problem, perhaps our greatest global problem.

I believe wholeheartedly that we need to take care of the Goose. I practice it daily. And yet, and yet–it turns out I accidentally killed my Goose.

A Cosmic Oops!

It turns out I’ve been trying to beat the eggs out of my Goose as I was building my business.

I believe I was put on this planet to reach thousands, perhaps millions of people. I believe I’ve been in a Cosmic PhD program for many years now. I have been given assignments from my Angel Committee, assignments designed to teach me to persevere, be grateful, and trust humility and authenticity.

A year ago I made a decision to do whatever it would take to get myself out in the world in the way I feel called to be in the world. I’ve spent a lot of time, money, and effort this last year doing what I thought I needed to do to build relationships and connect with people all over the world.

Instead of tending my sacred Goose, the producer of my creativity, joy, wisdom, and optimism–instead of tending and trusting my Goose, it turns out I’ve been trying to stick my arm up there and grab those Golden Eggs before their time.

I didn’t mean to be doing this. I thought I was Trusting the Universe. I knew that a sense of urgency was stalking me and I didn’t trust the frenzy that seemed embedded in my trying to market my movement, but I thought I was in integrity and having fun as much as possible.

Confession

I now realize I have not been taking good care of myself all these months and I’ve been trying to become someone I’m not. I am not a salesman. Money does not motivate me. I need money to fuel my passion and purpose in this world and I want opportunities to be of service to the greatest number of people.

But I’ve worn myself out marketing three to five hours a day as I was told I must if I wanted my business to be more than a hobby. The Goose isn’t dead really, she’s just stunned and motionless. I will not beat her with a stick to get her up and going again. I will not shame her or me. I will not despair, extrapolating this feeling I’m having right now into the future.

I am going to sit with my stunned, exhausted Goose, and stroked her, and let her know how much I love her. I will not urge her into action; I will wait to hear from her. How long this will take I do not know.

Trusting Everything

I’d been getting feedback from readers that my articles have had perfect timing and have been a comfort. I believe in synchronicity. I believe that my authenticity is not just about me or just for me. I am trusting that my sharing this process, my willingness to pull back the curtain and share what is really going on inside me instead of sharing only the positive part of my journey, is what is called for right now.

I’m sick to death of hype. I’m tired of over eager positive-ness. I’m tired of being told only part of the story when I know the true story of doubt, confusion, and exhaustion that is unspoken in many of the newsletters I receive in my inbox.

What is in this for you?

If you are reading this right now, I believe there is a reason. I believe there is something in you that wants to be known, something in you that is seeking a Voice. Let yourself know what you know and trust that you will be led to the next step.

Maybe you need to rest and stroke your Goose for a while too.