This post is a bit of a rehash of one I wrote four years ago because I’m noticing perfectionism surfacing once again.
I think if I’m perfect then other people will love me. This is kind of a problem because I’m not perfect. Even more damaging is the fear that if I make a mistake or do something wrong, that love will be taken away from me. That means every time I make a mistake I’m scared I’ll be abandoned.
Yikes. That means there’s a whole lot of pressure to never make a mistake and always do the right thing. In this context, it makes sense why if I send the wrong email attachment or tell a fib, my freakout is not on par with the event itself because the whole thing becomes much more serious.
Prickly bits make a cactus what it is, perhaps it’s the prickly bits that make us human.
I’ve written before about mistakes being the zest of life, which I think is true. I honestly believe mistakes are part of the learning process, and nothing beats the expansive feeling that comes from learning. At the same time, I’ve felt a desire to be perfect right out of the gate. To know everything immediately. To be a star pupil. To be an award-winning writer. To know how to invest my money and become a millionaire. I want to know right now and I want to do it perfectly. Otherwise you won’t love me or continue to love me.
What’s interesting is I don’t feel the same way about other people. Other people are allowed to be flawed human beings who make mistakes and I love them just the same. But me? Pssst. I hold myself to a different standard.
That’s not cool and it also doesn’t make much sense because perfection does not guarantee love. I called a perfect show as a stage manager and no one seemed to notice or really care. Even when I do things “perfectly” it doesn’t seem to make a difference. And you know? It never will because perfection is not a requirement for love.
In fact, a friend told me once perfection is scary. When he meets seemingly perfect women, he’s intimidated because he can’t relate to them. It’s our flaws that make us likable because it’s just as C.S. Lewis said: “Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: ‘What! You too? I thought I was the only one.’”
People will never love me more because I’m an all-star or never do anything wrong. People love me for who I am, not because I never make mistakes. I am allowed to send the wrong email attachment because there is no inverse relationship between the mistakes I make and how much I’m loved. I can be, and am, loved no matter what. I already know that’s true for others and it’s time to make it true for me.
I dream of a world where we realize love is associated with who we’re being, not what we’re doing. A world where we experience unconditional love all the time. A world where we allow ourselves to make mistakes because we know love will still be there. A world where we let go of our outdated beliefs and ideas because they no longer serve us. A world where we know perfection is not a requirement for love.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
This week I’ve been ascribing meaning to things that don’t need to have them. For instance, my face is broken out and the meaning I’m ascribing is I’m ugly, unattractive, and will remain single for the rest of my life. Because of a zit. I do the same thing whenever I gain any weight. Really, what it means is I’m stressed, not sleeping well, eating something I’m allergic to, and/or imbalanced hormonally.
I bring this up because how often do we torture ourselves by ascribing meaning to things when they’re not needed? Someone not accepting a friend request on facebook means they hate us and don’t want to be friends. When we haven’t heard back from a job interview it means the position has been filled. In truth, someone not accepting a friend request means they didn’t accept a friend request. Not hearing back from a job interview means the company hasn’t gotten back to us. That’s it. Not that we’re terrible people who will never be hired again or any of the other things we think it means.
This person is a cool, confident world traveler. Oh wait, I can’t know any of that. . .
I touched on this a few weeks ago in my post “All in the Head,” about anxiety. However, I’m also noticing ascribing meaning to things sometimes doesn’t create anxiety. Sometimes it’s a lie or a way to create melodrama.
Yesterday, I heard spiritual teacher/writer Adyashanti and he said we’re addicted to the stories we tell ourselves, whether they’re painful or not. Ain’t that the truth. It wasn’t until this week though that I became even more aware of how I’m spinning out and getting upset over small things because I’m making them large by ascribing meaning to them. A zit is no longer an indication of stress, but instead becomes a sign that I’m doomed to a life of spinsterhood. Weight gain suddenly means I’m unlovable. These are quite big leaps!
When we start to ascribe meaning to things, we get wrapped up in our selves, our egoic nature, and are unable to rest in the knowledge that we are the Buddha, as Adyashanti would say. Ascribing meaning I think is like cobwebs in the attic – if we don’t address them, pretty soon the attic is covered in cobwebs and that’s all we see anymore. When I ascribe meaning to things, I detach from reality and keep myself from being present, and really, I’d much rather be the Buddha.
I dream of a world where we stop ascribing meaning to things that don’t need them. A world where we keep things in perspective. A world where we detach from the addictive stories we tell ourselves. A world where we allow ourselves to be the Buddha.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
The other day, a man menacingly said, “Smile! You so pretty,” while I walked by him. On this same walk, I passed a grocery store with some police activity and witnessed a fight almost break out while waiting for the bus. One woman accused another of touching her stuff and was ready to issue a smackdown over it. So much so, that she followed her down the street. Not only that, two bystanders crossed the street gleefully in the hopes of watching the potential fight.
My response was, “What’s with all the aggression today?” In that moment, it became clearer to me exactly why sensitivity is a gift. I didn’t enjoy seeing the aggression; I didn’t want to fight the menacing man. I was horrified by all of the events.
Sometimes I feel like a sensitive baby deer. But that’s a good thing.
If you’d said to me two months ago that sensitivity is a gift, I would have scoffed. In fact, a friend did say that to me and I did scoff because my whole life I’ve been accused of being too sensitive. Sensitivity was always a burden, a curse, something I wanted to be rid of. I wanted to toughen myself up, grow a thicker skin – anything that was an antidote to sensitivity seemed like the way to go.
When I witnessed all of this on my walk, I realized sensitivity is needed in this world to keep it from being filled with aggressive, menacing people. The sensitive souls are the ones that balance all the harshness. They are the ones who say, “This is not OK,” and try to do something about it. The sensitive people are the caretakers, the artists, the advisers. Without sensitivity, we lose some of our humanity. That’s a big statement, I know, but it’s the sensitivity, the empathy, that allows us to connect with one another and move away from our baser instincts. Not everyone is as sensitive as I am, and that’s great – we need the tough-skinned people in the world too – but most people have at least some sensitivity. Considering the world we live in right now, maybe we need more sensitive people.
As a sensitive person, I can’t stomach people hurting each other or neglecting each other. Can you imagine what the world would be like if our leaders felt the same way? Would we have the same number of wars? Would there be so much poverty? Would the environment be in the state it’s currently in? Maybe when someone says to me, “You’re so sensitive,” I can say, “Thank you, it’s one of my best qualities,” because sensitivity is what makes me the caring, creative, idealistic person that I am. How can that be anything but a gift?
I dream of a world where we all embrace our sensitivity. A world where we recognize being sensitive is what makes us loving and compassionate. A world where we use our sensitivity to our advantage to make the world a better place. A world where we recognize sensitivity as a gift.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
The other day the blinds fell off my window. They landed in such a way that nothing was broken or harmed – no small task considering my desk sits in front of the window and is littered with knickknacks, a monitor, my computer, my printer, etc. When the blinds, fell it got me thinking about the unavoidable, uncontrollable things in life.
Those blinds? They had to fall because the tab that locks them into place became loose and I pulled them in such a way the entire contraption crashed to the floor. However, it was pure luck that kept those blinds from hitting me in the head, or smashing into my computer monitor, or destroying my trinkets. But was it really luck? I don’t think it was. When I reflect on my life, it’s clear there is some kind of benevolent force watching out for me – call it higher power, call it God, call it a guru, a guardian angel – but there is definitely something.
I’d like to think in some ways I’m wrapped in yarn.
Contemplating the blinds, I started musing about the not-so-pleasant things that are also out of my control, like getting hit by a car or broken into or mugged or anything else. Maybe for whatever reason (fate, karma, samskaras) certain things must happen, they must take place, but a benevolent force is softening the blow for us, keeping it from being as terrible as it could be.
When I got hit by a car as a pedestrian in November 2013, all I could think was, “Why me? Why did this happen to me and why didn’t any benevolent force stop it?” All the faith-oriented people around me kept saying, “Your higher power is the one that kept you from needing to go to the hospital!” but I didn’t buy it. Why should I put my faith and trust in some unseen force to keep me safe if I’m not going to be safe? If I’m going to get hit by a car anyway? What I’m coming to here is acceptance – I cannot keep someone from hitting me again or breaking into my home anymore than I already am by cautiously crossing the street and locking my doors. I’ve spent a good chunk of my life worrying about these things and it certainly hasn’t been beneficial. In fact, it’s kept me in a lot of fear.
I said to a friend the other day I struggle with turning this safety stuff over to my higher power, but I can at least give it a shot. If need be, I can always start worrying again, but I’d like to try this trust thing. The blinds are a small example of being taken care of, but I’ve seen larger examples too, like trees that fall in such a way they avoid houses and cars. So maybe for today I can affirm my higher power will keep me safe when possible, but when something must happen to me, at the very least higher power will soften the blow.
I dream of a world where we turn over our fear of future negative events. A world where we trust that some things are inevitable, but there is still a benevolent force watching out for us. A world where we have faith the blow will be softened.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
More and more I’m noticing that what we all want is to be seen, heard, and understood. We want people to empathize with us, to recognize what we’re going through and trying to express.
This week I had some angry interactions with others. They became upset over something that involved me, but wasn’t really about me. My first reaction when someone explodes in my direction is to cower, to take it in. My next reaction is to become angry in return, to meet anger with anger. Finally, I turn to empathy and say, “I hear what you’re saying. It sounds like you feel _____.” When I’m able to get to that empathic place, the person cools down and says, “You’re right, that’s exactly how I feel,” and then we’re able to have an honest conversation. The honest conversation is where the solutions come from.
Are we hearing each other the way we listen to a song?
A friend told me recently the hardest part about relationships for her is going deeper when she’s wounded. That instead of running away from her partner when he gets upset, or trying to hurt him back, is getting to that empathic, vulnerable place. I found that to be true for me too, especially when I’d much rather throttle the person’s neck. I’m not saying anger doesn’t have its place – it absolutely does – but sometimes its better to express anger to a neutral third party. Instead of escalating a heated situation, it’s often better to call up someone else and vent.
I find this to be true for other emotions too. When I’m sad, sometimes I want someone to tell me things will be OK, or to help me problem solve, but oftentimes I’d rather someone said, “I hear you. That sucks,” and then let me cry. I usually know what I need to do so I’d much rather have support than advice.
I first wrote about empathic listening or nonviolent communication in 2009. I’ve been using some of the methods I picked up ever since and find it just as inspiring now as I did then.
What I find so encouraging about empathic listening is its potential for huge and lasting change. It’s been used to reduce violence in hospitals and curb bullying. Plus Marshall Rosenberg, the founder of nonviolent communication, negotiated peace deals with terrorists using the method. I can’t help but wonder how much of the violence in the world is because people are not getting their needs met? How often are we resorting to angry words and louder voices in an effort to get people to understand where we’re coming from? Not everything can be solved with empathic listening of course, but I honestly think some problems can.
I dream of a world where we make an effort to see, hear, and understand each other better. A world where instead of firing off an angry invective, we try to access an empathic place. A world where we bring more love into our conversations, especially the hard ones. A world where we can honestly say we do hear one another.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
Yesterday, I watched a woman park in the bus zone for 15 solid minutes. Her car was off, she got out, put her shoes in the trunk, and basically couldn’t care less that she was doing something illegal. I kept thinking she parked in the bus zone because she had car trouble but no, eventually her friend sauntered out of the BART station and the woman started her car – slowly, I might add – and took her sweet time leaving.
I was floored. In that same situation, I know I would have been fidgety, glancing over my shoulder every two seconds waiting for a bus or a cop car to pull up. I can’t help but contrast this woman’s behavior with mine, someone who cares too much.
 Look at this dog! This dog couldn’t care less. |
Last week, I flew home from Vienna where I sat in a window seat. Luckily, there was no one in the middle seat, but there was a woman in the aisle seat. I have to go to the bathroom approximately every hour, and on a six-hour flight, it can be obnoxious for the people who have to keep getting up for me. I noticed the woman started getting huffy and I began caring about what she thought of me. A stranger. A person I will never see again. I wanted this woman to like me, to not get upset with me, to hold me in positive regard, and so I resolved to use the bathroom less. That is, until I realized my bladder wasn’t having any of that and got up anyway in as polite and gracious a way as I could muster.
The experience got me thinking about how I care sooo much about how other people are responding to me. I’m over being judged for how I look, speak, and dress – for the most part – but I’m still sensitive to how others react to me. If I’m doing something that causes someone any negative emotion, I want to modulate my behavior immediately to please them, even if it means discomfort for me. Um, this is nicht sehr gut, as they say in German. I can’t spend my life constantly trying to please other people. The very act of being alive means I’m going to ruffle some feathers.
I can’t try to shrink myself or shirk my own needs in order for other people to like me. I can’t disappear or live in a bubble. I’m an adult and as an adult I need to take care of myself, even if that means disappointing someone else, or annoying someone else, or angering someone else. To make that process easier, I need to care less. I’m not saying we should all start parking illegally in bus zones or acting like jerks in order to get our needs met, but maybe those of us who care a lot need to care less. And vice versa.
I dream of a world where we each find the sweet spot between caring too much and caring too little. A world where we’re considerate of each other, but not overly so. A world where we take care of ourselves to the best of our capacity while also taking care of those around us.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
This post comes to you from Vienna, Austria. That’s relevant because I’m putting a lot of pressure on myself to practice my German. “Rebekah! How often are you given the opportunity to go to a German-speaking country? You need to take advantage of this!” Nevermind the fact I only speak about three words, have a terrible accent, and am unclear about the sentence structure. Nevermind that speaking to strangers makes me nervous and I’m already stressed about doing my job well covering a conference — the reason that I’m in Vienna in the first place. It seems like a good idea to pile even more on and berate myself for not speaking German, no?
Right. What it boils down to is fear of missing an opportunity. I’m scared that if I don’t take advantage of every opportunity that comes my way they’ll never come around again and be gone forever. Except, that’s not really true. I mean, it is for some things — if a relative is on her deathbed and there’s an option to go see her, yes, do that, but little things like practicing German or attending a concert? That stuff comes around again.
Opportunity will keep knocking at your door.
In fact, in my experience, if something is meant to be, it will definitely come around again. The things, experiences, and objects that are meant to be in my life will come into my life and I don’t need to worry about missing them. Here’s a small example. Everyone and their mother has recommended the book to me, The Highly Sensitive Person. If I had a nickel for every time someone said, “Do you know you’re a highly sensitive person?” I’d be a millionaire. Finally, a friend gifted it to me so now I’m reading it. I know it’s a small example, but I have larger examples too (see: Just a Girl from Kansas).
One of my favorite quotes, which I’m paraphrasing, comes from Rev. Michael Bernard Beckwith who says, “Opportunity doesn’t knock, it will beat down your door.” I’ve found that to be true for me. Perhaps I can relax then about not speaking German frequently while I’m here. Perhaps I can calm down with all the carpe diem-ing I’m doing. Perhaps I’d be better off staying present with myself and showing up authentically instead of forcing myself to do something because I’m scared I won’t get another chance. Maybe it’s time for me to relax into the knowledge that opportunities I’m meant to have will beat down my door and it’s my job to say yes only when I mean it.
I dream of a world where we realize opportunity keeps knocking. A world where we don’t pressure ourselves when it’s unnecessary. A world where we relax and show up authentically for ourselves allowing our true desires to shine through.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I am en route to Vienna so I’m reposting this blog from April.
A million years ago I saw a refrigerator magnet that said, “You are what you think so choose your thoughts wisely!” I obviously agree with this sentiment – up to a point. A very wise friend said to me once, “The only true thing about a thought is that it’s a thought.” Yes.
I can get very attached to my thoughts, especially the negative ones. I can start to believe the ugly voices in my mind and it’s not always so easy to flip them to positive ones. Sometimes it’s easier to remember I am not what I think and I am not what I identify with. Giving myself some distance allows me to feel better because it’s true – I am not my thoughts, I am beyond my thoughts.
The point of the meditation I practice is to remind myself I am an expression of an infinite loving consciousness – I’m trying to reach a point beyond thought, beyond drama, beyond anything other than pure and perfect love. So no, I am not the insecure child within me, I am not the drama queen, I am not the writer, I am not any of the labels I adhere to because ultimately I am beyond them, I am more than them.
I really can’t express that in words because who I am is also beyond words, so instead I will leave you with a picture as a reminder. Whenever I look at images of space I am reminded I am more than this body, this mind, this life. I am that.
I looove space (as I think you know). It helps me feel expansive.
I dream of a world where we remember we are not our thoughts. A world where we remember a thought is just a thought. A world where we detach from our mind’s dramas. A world where we frequently put ourselves in a place beyond words and beyond time. A world where we feel with utmost certainty who and what we really are.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
This week I had a funny incident take place that showed me just how much of the anxiety I experience is of my own making.
On Tuesday, I sent off a flurry of text messages – to my landlord, a close friend, a new friend, etc. – and didn’t hear back from any of them. Not a single person. I made and received calls, but not a single text message came through. Being the person I am, I went into a tizzy and started imagining the worst: “I’m being a nuisance! They don’t want to be friends anymore! They’re trying to send me a passive-aggressive message!”
Wouldn’t it be cool if we could take certains things out of our heads like taking off a mask?
On the periphery of my brain, I postulated perhaps the people I texted were busy, but I didn’t give that thought much credence because clearly the more plausible theory was the one where everybody decided they wanted nothing to do with me. It may sound ridiculous – and it is ridiculous – but that’s where my brain goes and it takes a lot to convince me otherwise.
I turned off my phone on Tuesday night, still with nary a text, woke up on Wednesday, and had 11 text messages. All of the people I texted on Tuesday had responded to me shortly after I contacted them, but my phone was being weird and I didn’t receive the messages until Wednesday. That’s never happened to me before. All of that worry and anxiety for nothing.
It reminded me that so much of what I’m anxious about never comes to pass. That I put myself in these anxious states by the thoughts I think. It’s easy to say, “Well, think different thoughts!” but I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know how to become more logical when I feel so illogical. A new practice that I’m trying is to ask myself, “How do I know this is true?” That simple question allows me the space to step back and remind myself, “Oh yeah! I don’t know it’s true. It’s only my thoughts/pictures that tell me so,” and somehow my rational brain is able to come back online. Because really, most of this stuff is in my head.
I dream of a world where we recognize much of what we worry about is only in our minds. A world where we don’t believe everything we think. A world where we’re able to take a step back and ask ourselves for some evidence of the thoughts we think.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
This week I felt like a cuckoo bird. Sitting in a room full of boxes in a new place will do that to me. I noticed that because I felt insecure in my living space (i.e., everything was new and disorganized), that also meant my insecurity regarding relationships came up. I think I’ve mentioned before that I’m anxious attachment, which in a nutshell means I feel uncertain in my relationships.
That anxiety and sensitivity was on hyperdrive this week as I found myself spinning out over the tiniest things. For instance, I texted my neighbor and when she didn’t respond right away I started thinking the worst: “She doesn’t want to talk to me! I’m bugging her! She regrets having me as her neighbor!” Of course, that wasn’t true and instead she was just busy, but still. When I’m in that anxious state I take everything personally. I try to read people’s minds and make every action, or inaction, of theirs a reflection on me. I want to modulate my behavior in order to maintain a connection with the person.
What I love about this picture is you think it’s just a drop on a leaf but it’s NOT! Kinda like how if you look closer you see things are between God and us.
Talk about making myself crazy, right?
One of the things that helped me so much with this is a quote misattributed to Mother Teresa. It’s a variant or paraphrase of The Paradoxical Commandments by Kent M. Keith, but I like the inaccurate quote better than the original:
“People are often unreasonable and self-centered. Forgive them anyway. If you are kind, people may accuse you of ulterior motives. Be kind anyway. If you are honest, people may cheat you. Be honest anyway. If you find happiness, people may be jealous. Be happy anyway. The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow. Do good anyway. Give the world the best you have and it may never be enough. Give your best anyway. For you see, in the end, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.”
Ahhhh. I’m breathing a sigh of relief just reading that again. Whenever I try to curb or modulate my behavior, I’m making it between us, when actually it’s between God and me. When I express my love for another, I’m really expressing my love for God in the form of a person, and it’s not up to me whether the person accepts it or not. That part is out of my hands. And because the universe is infinite and creative, it’s quite likely that if the person I’m expressing affection to rejects it, I’ll receive love from some other person. For God, there is no limit and there is no distinction.
What I’m saying is it doesn’t matter if my neighbor doesn’t text me back right away, or some guy rejects me, because it was never between us. It was between God and me anyway, and the more I shore up my relationship with my higher power, the better off I’ll be. The more that I stop taking things so personally and practice forgiveness, kindness, honesty, and service regardless of how people respond, the happier I will be.
I dream of a world where we we see relationships as an expression between God and ourselves. A world where we show up fully regardless of other people. A world where we value our relationship with ourselves because we understand ultimately everything is between God and us anyway.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.