I'm not perfect and you're not perfect. No one is. So why do we demand perfection of ourselves? Why do we beat ourselves up when we fall short of perfection?
It's great to strive to improve on a continual basis; without growth, we stagnate and die. Not in the literal sense, of course. But each day that we're alive and breathing, we need to improve upon ourselves from the day before; each rising sun gives us the opportunity to start fresh.
Why I felt compelled to write about perfection tonight, I'll never know. What I do know that is the past few weeks I've let my mind and pen write a lot without any type of censorship. So when my mind gives me the nudge to write about a particular topic or person or situation, I pay attention, pick up my pen, and write. To some that may seem a bit wishy-washy; that's okay, I'm not writing this for you.
If you're a FB friend, you'll have noticed that I went for four (4) coffee dates in two days, two of which were with my mom and likely should not count. But it's never just me and my mom. Family and friends nearly always join us.
I was sort of dreading these "coffee" dates, as I sometimes tend to shrink back into my "hermit-zone" when things are not going well. However, I made myself go to each date, and I'm not sorry I did so. It's good for us to push past our comfort zones and get a bit uncomfortable on occasion. In this case I knew I needed to give myself a little nudge and spend some time with adults, communicating about grown-up things.
We all are familiar with the expression that things happen for a reason, etc. these coffee dates were no exception. With each person I sat down with and communicated, I learned more about them, and had new insights into my own
mind.
My two years working in rural nursing have not been kind to me, nor have I been kind to it, or to myself. I've lost the passion I once had for nursing as a result of the move to rural nursing. This disappoints me greatly! It took having coffee with a dear friend and co-worker for me to realize that this is not the fault of rural nursing. Things happen for a reason, but I'm really struggling with understanding this one!
Coffee #2 was a larger group; there were six of us, I believe. Here I learned that I should likely sit down and address my feelings about possibly not returning to regular nursing duties. I'm angry. But that's another post.
Lunch/coffee today was me and mom with one of her long-time friends, and her daughter. The moms visited and reminisced, while we discussed a multitude of topics; it was quite enjoyable.
This afternoon I sat down with an ex-boyfriend''s ex-wife. We've talked sporadically over the past years, and I've really come to appreciate her as a friend. Sitting with her I had another one of my "epiphanies," which happens every now and then. Without her, and without our conversation, I would never have had this revelation. It was one of those flashes of insight into one's own condition that changes the way a person behaves ever after. Just as I have used humor as a means of covering my insecurities, I believe I've also used another behavior for another purpose. (I don't care to share specifics of that behavior here.)
So how does this all relate back to perfection?
We're always growing, learning. We're never done learning about ourselves, and the more we learn about ourselves, the more adjustments we can make in our journey towards perfection.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Responsibility (sometimes) Sucks)
Wherever you are in life, you're there because of choices YOU made! These are not always the big choices (which job offer to take); where you are is more a result of many small day-to-day choices.
We love to go through life thinking we are a result of our childhood, or a product of past abuses suffered earlier in life, even identifying ourselves as an abuse survivor.
Let me ask you this question: how can you call it living if you're an abuse "survivor?" That would imply that you are merely "surviving" vs truly thriving.
When is it a good time to let go of your past and start living? This is where our choices begin to factor in; when we've wallowed in self pity and bitterness long enough, we can choose to remain there and continue with our "poor poor me, my life is so lousy" attitude or we can CHOOSE to take action and change our lives for the better.
Personally, I have no patience or tolerance for those who have made the choice to remain in their "poor me" condition, whining and complaining ad nauseum, steadfastly refusing to make the choice to improve their lives in any manner.
Inaction is just another form of choice. In not taking action, we are CHOOSING to not take action.
We are a product of our past choices and while we cannot go back in time to change our choices, we can certainly CHOOSE to make better choices starting this exact moment.
We love to go through life thinking we are a result of our childhood, or a product of past abuses suffered earlier in life, even identifying ourselves as an abuse survivor.
Let me ask you this question: how can you call it living if you're an abuse "survivor?" That would imply that you are merely "surviving" vs truly thriving.
When is it a good time to let go of your past and start living? This is where our choices begin to factor in; when we've wallowed in self pity and bitterness long enough, we can choose to remain there and continue with our "poor poor me, my life is so lousy" attitude or we can CHOOSE to take action and change our lives for the better.
Personally, I have no patience or tolerance for those who have made the choice to remain in their "poor me" condition, whining and complaining ad nauseum, steadfastly refusing to make the choice to improve their lives in any manner.
Inaction is just another form of choice. In not taking action, we are CHOOSING to not take action.
We are a product of our past choices and while we cannot go back in time to change our choices, we can certainly CHOOSE to make better choices starting this exact moment.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
GONG SHOW
Some of my FB statuses are long enough to be short stories, but this is a story that would push the boundaries of status length. Besides, there is only so much patience I have for keying in lengthy dialogues on my iPhone.
Having said that, let me tell you a story.
It happened one bitterly cold Sunday in January. Kevin and I picked up my mother at her home and proceeded to drive off to Winnipeg. What was supposed to be a surprise for Great-Gramma turned out to not be much of a surprise because Luanna, my dear dear sister-in-law, was unaware that the event was to be a surprise. The surprise was that we were going to pick up Jen, my daughter, Kevy's birth mother, and my mother's granddaughter who she had not seen in many months. I'm sure she was convinced that Jen no longer existed and was just a part of her memory bank.
Now before I go any further with this tale, let me fill in some background, for those of you who are blissfully unaware of my mother's status (and I do not mean FB status). She is 87 years old, has pitifully poor hearing despite two expensive hearing aids, and has some form of dementia which is advancing surprisingly rapidly the past few weeks. She is normally very pleasant, but has had some more unpleasant moments recently, which is why we started her on Risperidone ten days ago, with very good effect.
Now that you are up to speed..... we are on the way to Winnipeg, the drive there was uneventful. After no confusion whatsoever (on my part) we found Jenny's new home and proceeded to pick her up. Her and I had prearranged to go to Smitty's at Pembina and Grant, and there we went.
After we were seated in our booth, the fun began. And what fun it was. Mom has her condition which leaves her at a distinct disadvantage at the best of times. Kevin is a toddler, which should also be known as a medical condition. Jennifer is 21 with an attitude. This is definitely a medical condition. I'm 44 and I was the only normal one at the table. And if you're buying that, well, you've got bigger things to be worrying about.
Picture the four of us at a table. Mom can't hear anything we're saying unless we practically shout. Kevin talks and fidgets non stop. Jennifer says very little and what she says usually should not be repeated. I spent most of my time repeating things that had to be censored first. Then attempting to discipline an unruly toddler on the other side of the table whose birth mother seems to think she can make decisions on behalf of.
Jen thought it was a good idea to play tic-tac-toe with Gramma. She won't be doing that again anytime soon. Mom beat her with 3 or 4 x's. In short, she got schooled and good!!
The drive home was ridiculously funny. Driving down the Trans Canada highway, a route that my mother has been on and driven on at least a million times, she asked where we were. It seems she no longer recognized the landmarks that were once so familiar. No, that's not the funny part. What was funny was that at the very same time, Kevy asked what road we were on and what the sign beside the road said. This cacophony of noise and conversation was brief but intense. Everytime I spoke to Kevin, Mom thought I was talking to her and demanded that I repeat myself. Kevin had this knack of simply not speaking until Mom was already talking and then I was listening to two at once.
(written last winter; not sure why I never posted it then)
Having said that, let me tell you a story.
It happened one bitterly cold Sunday in January. Kevin and I picked up my mother at her home and proceeded to drive off to Winnipeg. What was supposed to be a surprise for Great-Gramma turned out to not be much of a surprise because Luanna, my dear dear sister-in-law, was unaware that the event was to be a surprise. The surprise was that we were going to pick up Jen, my daughter, Kevy's birth mother, and my mother's granddaughter who she had not seen in many months. I'm sure she was convinced that Jen no longer existed and was just a part of her memory bank.
Now before I go any further with this tale, let me fill in some background, for those of you who are blissfully unaware of my mother's status (and I do not mean FB status). She is 87 years old, has pitifully poor hearing despite two expensive hearing aids, and has some form of dementia which is advancing surprisingly rapidly the past few weeks. She is normally very pleasant, but has had some more unpleasant moments recently, which is why we started her on Risperidone ten days ago, with very good effect.
Now that you are up to speed..... we are on the way to Winnipeg, the drive there was uneventful. After no confusion whatsoever (on my part) we found Jenny's new home and proceeded to pick her up. Her and I had prearranged to go to Smitty's at Pembina and Grant, and there we went.
After we were seated in our booth, the fun began. And what fun it was. Mom has her condition which leaves her at a distinct disadvantage at the best of times. Kevin is a toddler, which should also be known as a medical condition. Jennifer is 21 with an attitude. This is definitely a medical condition. I'm 44 and I was the only normal one at the table. And if you're buying that, well, you've got bigger things to be worrying about.
Picture the four of us at a table. Mom can't hear anything we're saying unless we practically shout. Kevin talks and fidgets non stop. Jennifer says very little and what she says usually should not be repeated. I spent most of my time repeating things that had to be censored first. Then attempting to discipline an unruly toddler on the other side of the table whose birth mother seems to think she can make decisions on behalf of.
Jen thought it was a good idea to play tic-tac-toe with Gramma. She won't be doing that again anytime soon. Mom beat her with 3 or 4 x's. In short, she got schooled and good!!
The drive home was ridiculously funny. Driving down the Trans Canada highway, a route that my mother has been on and driven on at least a million times, she asked where we were. It seems she no longer recognized the landmarks that were once so familiar. No, that's not the funny part. What was funny was that at the very same time, Kevy asked what road we were on and what the sign beside the road said. This cacophony of noise and conversation was brief but intense. Everytime I spoke to Kevin, Mom thought I was talking to her and demanded that I repeat myself. Kevin had this knack of simply not speaking until Mom was already talking and then I was listening to two at once.
(written last winter; not sure why I never posted it then)
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