Make More Mistakes

 

  My wife was telling me about a radio program she was listening to the other day in which the topic of discussion included mental health professionals on how stress, and in particular anxiety, was wearing away at the fabric of society. It was doing so in the way of individuals trying to cope with this idea of perfection; where making a mistake would cost them their livelihood, affection, even their very self respect. This, all wrapped up in the dread of punishment. I’ve addressed this directly and obscurely in other post, but it bears repeating where being ‘wrong’ is a concept that holds a host of prospects; all of them bad. 

  So allow me to make the key observation once more for the sake of reason on this ongoing struggle to prevail. Every single one of us learns to become what we are. Through the effort we call practice we develop continuing degrees of excellence. All around us, and permeating our environment is evidence of that process: Doctors, Lawyers, Professional Athlete, Bankers, Bakers, Jugglers, and Tattoo artist, all did not come out of a box with prowess: they worked at it, and over time, developed a treasure chest of mistakes, errors, or as defined, experience of being ‘wrong’. It is inconceivable to obtain any degree of skill without mistake; it’s how we perfect. So where did this notion of flawless-zero-defect ever take root? 

  It’s our overarching insecurity. Along with a iron rule where passion rules reason. So no matter how well we do, we dismiss the accomplishment finding flaws and errors; we are programmed to do it. From a point of view that can be helpful, because dissatisfaction in the way things are drives us to innovate and improve; left unchecked it drives us into neurosis. Dr Sigmund Freud was noted for saying children are completely egoistic; they feel their needs intensely and strive ruthlessly to satisfy them. I suspect far too many adults have allowed that child-within to run amok with their perception of how the world should be flawless…aka…perfect. When left unchecked, what we see is a stream of very unhappy people grumbling in their luxurious surroundings; legions of professionals at the height of their success suffering illness, or worse, destroying themselves, their families, their companies; injecting as well a contagious environment of discontent and dissatisfaction that by any other standard would be an ideal situation. 

   Short version is: we don’t stop to appreciate. Without gratitude nothing matters, nothing ever will, because the drive to polish away the blemishes will never let the afflicted soul rest. Kind of like you can’t see forest because of the tress. As Freud also said, “The voice of the intellect is a soft one, but it does not rest until it has gained a hearing.” I say strive to make more mistakes; develop your sense of humor and welcome the opportunity to laugh at the absurdity of thinking any of us can control the aspiration of living in a perfect world; that will only end in tears.

Mediocre Coaches

   I hit the scales today; down to 165.4 lbs, a weight I haven’t seen since my 20’s.  I could attribute it to my effort in the gym; because we go nearly every day; more often still if my bride had her way.  I could also attribute the loss to the change in diet; because my wife made adjustments in what we eat. Even with loosing those things I loved but were not-so-good-for-me, her meals continue to entice my taste buds.  Perhaps those along with her expertise in personal training combine to produce the success I am experiencing now.

  Yes, the ballet of the player and their coach cannot be discussed often enough to reveal the winning combination.  While I was toying with this gratitude I recalled a snap shot of my little league coach; how he was relentlessly demanding of us all to do better.  Of course we all at one time or another thought him unreasonable, harsh, even… dare I mutter; unfair.

  I smiled with the recollection of nearly praying on rainy days for his phone call cancelling practice.  I never considered whenever we players were out in the field getting soaked and muddied fielding pop-ups and grounders, that he too was standing in the very same cold rain; without the benefit of running around to keep warm no less. 

  I used to think coaching was all about knowledge; then transferring the little nuances of the sport onto players to culminate in, of course, a championship; experience was the tool they offered to hone each player into an example of personal excellence.  But now I believe coaches do far more than most (at least the self involved players) think.  For me, I see the coaches of my past as living examples of perseverance.  Along with cajoling us to move faster; think on our feet; and pay attention; were the more subtle lessons of courage under pressure; to face adversity with determination; to trust your team and to cooperate with compassion; so many of the tools that would in the future, make life if not reasonably successful, certainly far more pleasant in passage.  My coaches taught me how to accept victory with grace; and defeat with dignity.  They taught me how to be in the moment, and how to be considerate to others (friend and foe). 

  The Duke of Wellington is often incorrectly quoted as saying that “The Battle of Waterloo was won on the playing-fields of Eton.”  What Wellington said, while passing an Eton cricket match many decades later, was, “There grows the stuff that won Waterloo”, a remake construed as a reference to “the manly character induced by games and sport” amongst English youth generally.  Alas, building character often as not takes oblique roads to its destination.  As for the personal glory, or agony, holding us to embrace our worth no matter what; to fight the good fight; to play with our hearts because it matters to who we are; stands the legions of coaches who support their players while shaping them into responsible, mature adults.  He demonstrated what loyalty was; he stood up for us, he stood behind each and every one of us.

  I’ll never forget the gift he provided by being the man who cared to show us goofy kids how to play like winners; by that he earned our allegiance, and to be honest, our unquestioning-blind obedience.   I took a swing at being that guy once; the team didn’t do all that well, but they tried, and we had some fun, I impressed on them to not take the taunting too personally when we got trounced; and we did...a lot.   I remember this one kid in particular, Kyle. He was a bit small for his age; not all that coordinated either, but he got to play; everyone did.  At our last game, when there were no more practices to moan about, he came up to me in the dusty end of the day and uttered the greatest words I’ve ever heard.

“Thanks Coach” 

“For What Kyle?”

“For being Coach” he smiled, turned and ran to his waiting parents standing by their minivan with its doors open, ready to drive home.  They waved; I waved back; his mom cupped her mouth and yelled her appreciation too. I smiled and picked up the sports bag, trying to swallow the lump that somehow got into my throat.

I remember me saying the very same thing years before.

It Begins with a Whisper

        It begins with a whisper…..

isn’t that a cool introduction?  Not to be confused with Neon Trees current hit, Everybody talks lyrics, ie it started with a whisper

I wrote that comment about ten years ago, so I believe I’ve conclusive proof that poetic prose circles the universe then flitters to a receptive mind to be manifested into Art; in effect remains enchanting for its buried pearl of truth until liberated. 

  A suggestion, an action, or comment that ignites for us a way that draws toward a path otherwise unnoticed.

  I am reminded more these days of such occurrences in my own passage, and feel so less inclined to judge and admonish others for their choices.  I notice the seam that binds complain to complacency; where the ultimate gratitude to be on the journey is in fact the gift of the voyage.

  Ok, so it falls into the blah blah blad department of observation when we’re challenged to earn a living and fulfill our obligations…..right?

I am in the spirit of gratitude when I write in this way, for the relaxing and reassuring fashion of simplicity in just ‘being.’

  Years and years and YEARS ago, (when I was fresh out of high school) I distinctly remember having a conversation with a waitress friend of mine; that’s what we called them back in the 70’s, and she asked me out of the blue,

    “Well, what do you want Albert?” 

My knee jerk reaction, having adequate angst and discontent from all-my-many-years-of-depravation-and-neglect, (ha)

   “I just want to be Lori!...just be”

She had asked me to elaborate, in a teasing and poorly amused-arrested laughing fashion,

    “Well, you are, so that doesn’t seem to be a real problem”

Busted.

  We diverted to other grand schemes of hopes and dreams.  I remember that conversation to this very day; her voice still echoing in my ears, laughing at the self inflicted despair…these decades later, I join in at the absurdity of my complaint..  I didn’t know then, how long it would take to acknowledge the exit from eternal slacking was simply to put hands on the tiller and seek the never dimming horizon.