I couldn’t move three nights ago for fear of throwing up every bite of dinner, not because I was sick but because of stress. My biggest problem has not been not being able to do everything, though wouldn’t it be nice if I could, it’s that I worry about the fact that I can’t. Inadequacy doesn’t settle well with me.
And therein lies the problem. What I perceive as being inadequate is instead failing to accept that I have choices. You have this much time. You have this, this, this and that to do. Choose.
And maybe the hardest part is facing the consequences of not doing something well if at all. But the world won’t end if someone gets in a twist over an incomplete task. Likely I am the only person who notices the imperfections and even some of the omissions. And if not, I have an apology on hand, not to get mercy or make myself feel better but for etiquette’s sake. Any dire consequences would be more of a step toward something for which I’m better suited (and therefore happier doing) than a punishment.
I have to make my choices and be okay with them if I want peace. Saying I have no choices puts me immediately and directly in the hands of defeat.
Though I have in the past, even in the very recent past, felt guilty for being a bad example, a hypocrite even, I serve as positive reminder that there is no spherical chicken, that life isn’t as smooth and uniform as we’d like for it to be, and that we have a great deal more control than we may sometimes think. There is power in making choices, and there is peace in allowing one of those choices be to let go of that idea of perfection, or even of competency in some cases. I can be competent in anything given the time. But I can’t control time, only the choices I make in the time I am given.