Exactly as it was

I have a natural tendency to get worked up about things.  I worry.  I stress.  I fret.  I am, by nature, an anxious person.  It doesn’t serve me well.  Though I believe, in the deep and rarely examined recesses of my mind, that my worry and anxiety will ultimately benefit me, they don’t.  Somewhere along the line, I became convinced that conceiving of, and preparing for, every eventuality would give me some influence or control over situations.  It doesn’t.  I read once that  “Worry doesn’t rob tomorrow of its problems, it robs today of its joy.”  That pretty much sums up the reality, but still, somewhere in my mind, I equate worry with control and control with happiness.  Thus, I somehow think that worrying will make me happy, even though it never, ever has.

I’m also a perfectionist.  (Being a perfectionist might not mean what you think.  It doesn’t mean “doing everything perfectly”.  It means “not being able to let go of the idea of doing everything perfectly”.  Which is crazy-making, because no matter how well you ever do anything, you can always find a way that it isn’t “perfect”.)  If I don’t work on it, I naturally revert to a state where I am constantly anxious about how I can make things perfect.  So, I basically make myself miserable pursuing an impossible goal.  And perfection isn’t even a good goal!  Again, in some back room in my mind, I got the idea that perfect = happy.  Also, not true.  Trying to be perfect, at everything, all the time, is actually a pretty great way to NOT be happy.

I’m working on this in myself, and I’ve made good progress.  I can now see that somewhere in my mind I think that worry = happy, and I can see the nonsense of that idea.  I can also see that my life is actually happier when I don’t worry about anything being “perfect”.  Which is great.  But I’m not totally immune to it yet.

When I was preparing to go home for Christmas this year (yes, back in December), amongst sick kids, sick me, a break-in across the hall and all the usual frenzy of the Christmas season, I slipped back into this thinking.  I spent a lot of time in the weeks before my trip home contemplating (aka worrying about) all the things I could do to make the holiday at home with my family go perfectly.  I worried about what I would pack.  I wanted to make sure we all had the right sweaters, the perfect pajamas, the best outfits that we could for our weeks at home.  I tied myself in mental knots trying to figure out how to maximize every moment of our time at home so that we could see all of the people we wanted to see and do all the things we wanted to do in order to ensure a perfect holiday.  I stayed up late doing laundry, wrote up complicated planning calendars of people and events, and lost sleep over things like whether or not I had packed all of the most perfectly appropriate socks.

Before I made myself sick, crazy or miserable, I got things straightened out, though.  A few days before we left, in the midst of the chaos of that week, I realized that the only thing that truly mattered is that we were going home.  We were travelling across the ocean to see our family and our friends.  We would spend time with people that we love.  We would do fun things.  We would also not get to see everyone we wanted to, because time is finite, the holidays are busy and kids have a limit on how much activity they can handle happily.  No one would care if we had our best Christmas sweaters or the best possible collection of socks on hand.  Whether or not we made the connections on our flights was not going to make or break our trip.  None of the stuff I was agonizing over was going to make the difference between having a wonderful holiday and not.  What was going to make the difference was me NOT trying to make it be perfect.  In trying to make it be perfect, I was going to miss the fact that it was going to be absolutely wonderful regardless.  I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy it as well, and in not enjoying it, I would have gradually eroded the enjoyment of the people around me.  In reality, it didn’t have to be anything different than exactly what it was to be a happy holiday.

In the end, it wasn’t perfect.  We didn’t get to see everyone we wanted, and we didn’t get to see anyone for as much time as we wanted.  There were tons of things we wanted to do that we didn’t (there always are when we go home).  There were peaceful moments, busy moments, quiet moments, festive moments and lots and lots of love and fun.  It didn’t have to be any different.  It was exactly right as it was.

(I mean, really — how could we have improved on this?)

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Something cinnamony

(I think everything is going to be out of sequence for a while — since I still have things to post from our *last* UK trip back in September, everything is obviously out of order — so, for now, back to Christmas!)

There are some insights you just can’t have about your own culture until you’ve stepped outside of it.  Being home for Christmas was wonderful.  Spending the holiday with family and getting to see a few friends was incredibly special.  I was so happy to be home.

But, it’s also uncomfortable to feel like a stranger in my own country, to feel awkward and out of place in my hometown (especially because I spend all of my time in my new culture feeling awkward and out of place, too).  But that’s the reality.  I’ve forgotten how to do things in the US.  Grocery shopping feels weird.  I can’t exist normally in a coffee shop (I glare at the other patrons and feel compelled to greet and say farewell to the employees . . . at least I don’t do it in German) and I didn’t even attempt to drive.  I look like I should fit, it seems like I should fit, but I just don’t.  It’s ok — it comes with the territory.

This feeling extended to my social interactions — even those with my closest friends.  On one occasion, I was making plans with a friend for a playdate.  Our plans were coming together at the last minute — late on Saturday evening for early Sunday morning.  As we finalized everything, I asked if I could bring anything along the next day, and when she responded, “Something cinnamony”, I panicked a little.  I panicked because I was still in an Austrian mentality — and my first instinct was that since it was late on a Saturday and we didn’t have anything “cinnamony” in the house, that I wouldn’t be able to acquire anything.  I instantly started thinking of what I could cobble together.  I’m so accustomed to the Austrian shopping schedule, where the shops close at 6 on Saturday and don’t open until Monday morning.  I was worried I wouldn’t be able to accommodate such a specific request.

After realizing that I was in the US, and that the shops are open all the time, I realized that getting something “cinnamony” (or anything else) would be a simple task.  Regardless of how specific the request was, I’d probably have been able to manage it.

But then I started to wonder what I should get.  What the right “cinnamony” thing would be.  Whether this or that particular confection would be the best choice.  And I started to freak out again, because the pressure of getting it right started to mount immediately.  And although I *know* that it’s silly — this is one of my best and oldest friends, and I know that her enjoyment of our visit would have absolutely nothing to do with whether I brought the *right* thing to breakfast — I went from 0 to perfectionism in about 1 minute.

Because, since basically all the stores are open, all the time, there comes a kind of obligation.  Since the stores ARE open, and since I COULD get just the right thing . . . shouldn’t I?  Isn’t that the “right” thing to do?  I felt a near-immediate return to so many of my perfectionist tendencies that I’ve worked so hard to let go of.

In Austria, things work differently.  Because the availability of commerce is more limited (shops close down by 6 in the evening, and are closed on Sundays . . . some have very limited hours on Saturdays, too) the pressure to purchase the “right” thing is so much less, at least in part because it might not be possible.  If I was going to a Sunday morning playdate, and my host requested “something cinnamony”, I’d either have something like that already in my house, or I wouldn’t.  And if I did, it would likely be a partial package of cinnamon graham crackers, which I would happily bring along.  And that would be completely ok.

But in the US, the opportunity to find just the right thing leads, I think, to an obligation to find just the right thing.  Because the stores are open, we can use them, and therefore we should.  And I think it creates a higher expectation all around.

The truth is, I’m sure my friend couldn’t have cared less.  Just as I couldn’t have cared less whether she would have coffee for us when we arrived.  But, just as I instantly snapped into a sense of perfectionism and obligation, I wondered (and worried) that she might, too.  Since we were coming over, did they feel obligated to run out to the store (at 9:00 on a Saturday night) to make sure they had the things in the house that we might like to have when we arrived on Sunday morning?  I certainly hoped they didn’t.  It hadn’t been at all my intention to create any sense of pressure or obligation, but I knew, since I had just experienced it myself, that it might.

The interesting thing to me is that I’m not sure I would ever have had the awareness of the pressure I felt to provide the perfect thing if I had never lived without it.  Or, at least, I never would have questioned it.  Living in a culture with fewer hours of access to shopping inevitably lowers the bar when it comes to these kinds of expectations — sometimes the “perfect” thing isn’t available, so you have to make do with what’s convenient, and that’s completely acceptable.  While in the States, I feel like I existed in a space where the availability of resources created an obligation to use them . . . and I wasn’t even aware of it.

I started thinking about other ways that this pressure exists in the US.  Since the gym is always open, don’t we feel like we have no excuse if we don’t work out?  Since the mall is open late and on the weekends, don’t we feel an obligation to purchase a perfect gift?  Since the activities for the kids run all evening and all weekend, don’t we feel obligated to take advantage of them?  I don’t think the availability of shopping creates this pressure on its own . . . the incredibly long store hours may instead be a reflection of the cultural requirement to have the perfect thing and to fit ALL THE STUFF into every 24 hours.  I wonder if we haven’t convenienced ourselves into insanity.

What I know is that this pressure does not exist here.  The feelings of “good enough” instead of “perfect”, of “making do” instead of “making it right”, are much more comfortable to me.  Thinking of things in the “you CAN so you MUST” way makes me go a little crazy.  I like that I can see it, because it allows me to opt out.  I hope I can hold onto this perspective — it’s something I’d like to carry with me when we come home again.

(As it turns out, we stopped at Dunkin’ Donuts for cinnamon donuts to take to my friend’s house . . . and chocolate donuts . . . and coffee . . . all at 8:00 in the morning, which was pretty fantastic.)

Liam’s nap

Is it possible, little one, that there will come a time when you don’t know how special you are?  Your open mouth, your tightly curled fingers, your little body snuggled up against me.  Here, while you sleep in my arms, is a perfect moment.  I wouldn’t change a thing.  I love to feel your soft breath and see your eyelids flutter while you sleep.  My sweet baby.  I am awed and grateful to have been given the responsibility of being your mother.  When you are awake, you embrace life so thoroughly — running, laughing, cuddling, smiling, demanding what you need.  And as you sleep, you are so content.  You are such a happy child, and so comfortable and confident in who you are.

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