More ramblings on failure
I had an appointment with my shrink today. She asked how often I've failed at things. I honestly replied not often. I've made more than my share of mistakes but failing at a task? Not often.
However, I carry with me my Aunt Susie's voice every time I make a mistake. She's been dead several years and she was absent for many years of my life and yet i still hear smoker voice with a tilt of laughter saying "Crystal, everything you touch turns to shit." I can't remember when she first said it. I can't remember the context. What I remember is that I've always been hard on things. As I kid I blew through shoes, I still tear up shoes. I have to get new dishes every few years because mine break. A year or so ago I was doing lawn work and sliced the electrical cord and weed-wacked my own leg. I bought a new car last year and my front right bumper is totally scratched up. It's true, I'm hard on things. It's not true that everything I touch turns to shit. Every time I do something stupid and innocent, like driving to the wrong town for my hotel a few weeks back and discovering I had passed the hotel 30 miles before. I started to beat myself up with talk about being a dumb-ass when my daughter stopped me and helped me to laugh at myself. I'd never be so cruel to someone else and yet I do speak to myself that way.
One of the things I'm supposed to be doing for my mentor is creating a collage on fear and failure with cutouts from magazines. I started going through a pile of magazines today. I wasn't finding much inspiration or pictures that represent fear or failure to me. Then my view shifted. I realized I'd been looking for the wrong things, I was being too literal. The more I flipped through the magazines the worse I felt about myself. I hated seeing the pictures of beautiful women, these beautiful seascapes and landscapes of places I'll likely never visit. Pictures of families hiking and having fun made me feel like I was wasting my life. I was judging myself, my family, my life on pictures in a magazine that is posed and created to sell items or tell me where to go on my dream vacation or how to organize and decorate my dream home. Rather than being inspired, it made me depressed to know I'd never spend $65 on a pair of jeans and I find it nearly impossible to envision myself in Cuba and that my bedroom will probably never be clean let alone perfectly decorated. I was judging myself, condemning myself, and wishing for a different life.
And yet, as I put the scissors and magazines away, I walked into my home (which is beyond what I ever imagined for myself) and my youngest was holding the kitten her sister rescued. My husband kissed my neck, my middle daughter petting my dog, and I realized that my life is good, my life is far more than good, far more than I ever imagined for myself. I am not a failure. I may or may not go to Cuba. I find it a point of honor not to spend $65 on a pair of jeans; I'm proud that my girls are not wrapped up in name brand clothing and consider thrift store shopping an adventure. I'd love to give my home a fresh splash of paint and do some decorating but I can do that a piece at a time. I want my home to be clean but not perfect...some days that's a huge struggle but I'm working on it. Our house is a house of love and laughter, that's far better than anything a magazine could offer.
New sets of dishes every few years is fun. I can replace my shoes. I live and love with passion and that may mean my things may not be gently worn but that is far from turning them to shit. Knowing my Aunt Susie, she probably said it with love and laughter never intending to hurt me and certainly not expecting it to stick.
However, I carry with me my Aunt Susie's voice every time I make a mistake. She's been dead several years and she was absent for many years of my life and yet i still hear smoker voice with a tilt of laughter saying "Crystal, everything you touch turns to shit." I can't remember when she first said it. I can't remember the context. What I remember is that I've always been hard on things. As I kid I blew through shoes, I still tear up shoes. I have to get new dishes every few years because mine break. A year or so ago I was doing lawn work and sliced the electrical cord and weed-wacked my own leg. I bought a new car last year and my front right bumper is totally scratched up. It's true, I'm hard on things. It's not true that everything I touch turns to shit. Every time I do something stupid and innocent, like driving to the wrong town for my hotel a few weeks back and discovering I had passed the hotel 30 miles before. I started to beat myself up with talk about being a dumb-ass when my daughter stopped me and helped me to laugh at myself. I'd never be so cruel to someone else and yet I do speak to myself that way.
One of the things I'm supposed to be doing for my mentor is creating a collage on fear and failure with cutouts from magazines. I started going through a pile of magazines today. I wasn't finding much inspiration or pictures that represent fear or failure to me. Then my view shifted. I realized I'd been looking for the wrong things, I was being too literal. The more I flipped through the magazines the worse I felt about myself. I hated seeing the pictures of beautiful women, these beautiful seascapes and landscapes of places I'll likely never visit. Pictures of families hiking and having fun made me feel like I was wasting my life. I was judging myself, my family, my life on pictures in a magazine that is posed and created to sell items or tell me where to go on my dream vacation or how to organize and decorate my dream home. Rather than being inspired, it made me depressed to know I'd never spend $65 on a pair of jeans and I find it nearly impossible to envision myself in Cuba and that my bedroom will probably never be clean let alone perfectly decorated. I was judging myself, condemning myself, and wishing for a different life.
And yet, as I put the scissors and magazines away, I walked into my home (which is beyond what I ever imagined for myself) and my youngest was holding the kitten her sister rescued. My husband kissed my neck, my middle daughter petting my dog, and I realized that my life is good, my life is far more than good, far more than I ever imagined for myself. I am not a failure. I may or may not go to Cuba. I find it a point of honor not to spend $65 on a pair of jeans; I'm proud that my girls are not wrapped up in name brand clothing and consider thrift store shopping an adventure. I'd love to give my home a fresh splash of paint and do some decorating but I can do that a piece at a time. I want my home to be clean but not perfect...some days that's a huge struggle but I'm working on it. Our house is a house of love and laughter, that's far better than anything a magazine could offer.
New sets of dishes every few years is fun. I can replace my shoes. I live and love with passion and that may mean my things may not be gently worn but that is far from turning them to shit. Knowing my Aunt Susie, she probably said it with love and laughter never intending to hurt me and certainly not expecting it to stick.
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