A Well Done Day

I like days that are soft and easy and not demanding. I like moments to roll into each other and not to collide. I like peace and quiet and time for musing. However, there is never one of these days that does not have the slight hint of a feeling of desperation. The desperation comes from the thought that this day won’t last. It is a way to live a perfectly good day that takes away from it rather than adding to it. There are reasons why this happens, of course. First, you’ve experienced a day before when you had all your little ducks lined up and they have all scattered while some other force took over your day and changed it from your perfected image. Second, you have to be the kind of person who is anal about everything balancing. You want plenty of rest time so that when you are working or away - your time is balanced by the thoughts that rest is in sight and will happen. Thirdly, you are the kind of person who lives (and doesn’t know it) in some kind of alternate reality where perfection in life does not exist yet you still bang the proverbial head against the wall. It is Sisyphus rolling the rock up the hill only to discover he’ll do it again and again. There are no perfect days. That’s just a lot to ask from the universe. One can only hope to achieve perfect moments. Even an hour is going too far. It is too much to balance at once. I mean, if you are on your deck with a cool lemonade under a hot sun and the birds are singing while you read your favorite book and you want it to last all day…a cloud will come, a bug will land in the lemonade and your book will end on a bad note. Even if events are perfect, there is the ever-changing hormonal mind of the woman experiencing the events. Oh gosh, there could be too many pounds on her body, or a bad hair here or there. There could be a cross word in her mind and who knows what train to nowhere that might take.

Perfection exists in learning the art of expecting less than perfect. That is not to say we should expect horrible outcomes to our dearest laid plans…just the realization that life is speckled with bits of perfection and not chunks. That is really what makes them perfection after all. Next to perfection must be the almost perfect, the above-average.

I do not, however, hold with those who accept ‘good-enough’ as a passing grade for perfection. I am not a ‘good-enough’ type of person and frankly, ‘good-enough’ isn’t good enough. Yes, it’s a tight place to live and others are happier who exist in this realm. This explains why I write this passage. It is because I am hyper-aware of the lack of perfection in life that draws me to seek it all the more. Thankfully years of behavior modification therapy have eased the need to dig between such tight rocks and have opened up fields of stones from which I might choose among.

Perhaps seeking perfection is where the problem resides. It may be a serendipitous event that is only bestowed upon those who do not seek it. The divine powers of the universe may bless those who are not cognizant of its reality. Perhaps because of this even perfection can let its guard down and be less than itself. Perhaps perfection avoids those who expect it because it is too haughty and can’t be bothered with those who expect it to grace them. Like the old, wrinkled Aunt who always comes to the door with a present. She may one day show up empty handed. Perfection doesn’t want to be counted on. It wants to surprise. In order for it to be perfect it must maintain a level of anonymity.

If the human mind was capable of not thinking beyond a moment perhaps I could rouse some sort of anti-perfection mode to call upon at times of need. However, I am a planner and I plan to be let-down through my planning on perfection. Actually, if I think about it in this manner it adds a dimension of clarity. Why plan on being disappointed? Well, actually, if you did plan on being disappointed and you were not disappointed, then you would have achieved your goal through the back-door approach. However, how fun is it to set out on your day expecting it to royally suck? It must be more sane to expect it to be perfect. Does sanity really come into play here? I don’t know anymore. Perhaps there is no changing this mind of mine except to help it to ease into acceptance of less ideal days and try to love each day equally whatever it brings. Days deserve that, at least. I mean, they rise every morning and offer all they have. They aren’t always dealt the best hand either. They get rained upon, they get sunburned. We should cut them some slack and be kinder to our days. I think we’d find it more rewarding and closer to a really, really, really well done day.