"Perfection" is not a word I would use to describe any aspects of my personality or life a few years ago. "Haphazard," "fraudulent," or "stolen" would be more appropriate words for describing my possessions or general state. What I have grown to realize, however, is that perfection-ism is far different than perfection itself. Perfectionism is an obsession with perfection. You can look it up if you don't believe me. Actually, would you look it up for me? I'm dreadfully tired and dictionary.com feels like it's miles away from this blog right now.
Perfectionism did and does describe my past and present mental fixations. Although I would measure the results of my alcoholic efforts as a solid C average, I was never satisfied with anything in my life that wasn't of the highest quality. Please note the distinction. I did not demand perfection from anything that I produced, I demanded perfection from you and all that the world brought into my life. And you let me down. Oh, boy... you let me down.
I believe it is likely part of the male condition to obsess over the idea that somewhere out there exists the perfect mate, the perfect job, the perfect porno flick, the perfect cup of coffee. We are so obsessed with the notion that something better is sitting on a bar stool down the street that we keep walking out on a good thing and we've shot to hell all chances at happiness with the perfectly good circumstances that are already in our life. For me, this obsession certainly manifested itself most devastatingly in the form of alcoholism. I kept looking for happiness at the bottom of the next pint of beer, and I just kept ordering another until I was drunker than drunk. But for other men who aren't alcoholics, they simply abandon partners and jobs at the first sign of weight gain or the first suggestion that they won't get the promotion they want. I did that too, but because I'm an alcoholic I also got drunk and shouted things like "you'll never find another guy like me!" To which she would reply, "God, I hope not."
The notion that I should not accept imperfection in my circumstances was killing me. I was satisfied with jobs for about two weeks. I'm fond of saying that "I've never met a restaurant I couldn't run better myself" although my titles have never included the words "supervisor, director or manager." My titles have included "probationary, trainee and inmate," so that should tell you something about what I was bringing to the table. Nevertheless, in the face of my own blistering half-effort, I insisted that somewhere out there (probably at that quaint little bar across town) existed a job where I would always be managed appropriately, fall in love with the girl of my dreams and make lots of money (probably get tipped with a winning lottery ticket or something).
One of the most interesting things I've learned in sobriety is that no one person can be all things to me. There does not exist a person who will never frustrate me, never be cross with me or never make a mistake.
The same can be said for a job. No job can give me every feeling of worthiness, financial security and creative license that I wish it would. So the secret to solving this is to have a multifaceted life.
About a year ago I started down a path to a new career. The path has been winding and the progress is slower than I would like. I intend to end up a social worker doing incredibly important work that will pay me an enormous sum and impress you so much that you'll name a formidable landmark after me. While my goals are certainly worthy and I love having ambition, I've had to practice patience and allow myself to make some mistakes along the way. I've been anxious to start an internship, find a second job and begin a slow departure from the restaurant industry and move into a career that I can picture myself doing at the age of 60. In the meantime, I have occasionally found myself feeling restless and antsy. But the anxiety subsided when I realized that I didn't need a job to make me feel worthy and useful. I could feel worthy and useful by being worthy and useful. This is what I mean by having a multifaceted life.
I have found refuge in things like volunteer work, attending 12-step fellowships and helping others, and my schoolwork. I realized that although I would like to find work as a social worker (and deep down I know I will, eventually), I can be perfectly satisfied with my life exactly the way it is. I make a great living working only 25 hours a week. With the remainder of my week I can find opportunities to fulfill the need I have for feeling useful and helpful.
I take the same approach to relationships. I have been blessed with an extraordinary family and a loving girlfriend. But when they fall short of what I think I need in my life, I don't have to look far to find that other aspects of my life are supplying me with a dose of love and support. When I stop demanding that one person, one job or one meal be perfect, then other people, hobbies and bowls of ice cream come along and deliver the goods. When we accept imperfection in ourselves and others, we open ourselves up to the possibility of greatness in friends and opportunities that we have been taking for granted.
All of this comes on the heels of the most special work Christmas party I've ever attended. It felt so warm, familiar and downright loving that it feels cheap to refer to it as "work" Christmas party. The fantastic restaurant that I am so privileged to call my place of employment threw a smashing little dinner for us tonight. My gracious girlfriend came and sat down with nearly the entire staff and we ate an amazing meal with the owners. We had a "secret Santa" exchange and the gifts that were given were remarkably thoughtful. It's not as if I hadn't realized it before, but I remembered how lucky I am. I see that I have more love in my life than I knew.
Is this the "spirit of Christmas" or did I just eat too much turkey? Either way, I like it and I'm going to sleep good tonight.
No comments:
Post a Comment