“If we wait for the moment when everything, absolutely everything is ready, we shall never begin.”Ivan Turgenev
I thought I finished this last month, actually on my birthday to be precise. It laid dormant, left in the draft folder collecting virtual dust, until now, 10/12/2018 at 10:50 a.m. when my fingers moved my mouse to my blog icon in the bookmarks bar and brought me here. Rereading Turgenev’s quote, the lesson was starting this last month because now like then is the perfect moment to start something, anything. Just begin.
At the front of my mind, that morning was alignment. Like when the stars align just right when children line up one behind the next when your yoga instructor queues up the muscles needed to set the pose just right and your heart delights with perfection.
Recently, I’ve found myself use the word “perfect” as a substitute for:
- thank you, let’s just move on
- thank you, that’s pretty good, that meets my lowest expectation
- thank you, and good riddance
- and last, thank you, that is so absolutely perfect, you rocked my world.
The last option is most rare. Reflecting on this, I think my liberal use of perfect makes me a disingenuous slug – or – I have come to accept that the level of my standard/ my expectation is not shared. I’d like to think it’s the latter. Perhaps, I’ve grown?
If we are living in the present, then we focus on the here and now. Therefore we are not focused on the future, my definition for which is how I expect events to play out in the present. Another way to look at it, if we are focusing on our expectation, instead of just living, well then, we are only dreaming.
Why the philosophical bend? Birthdays do that to me. They are annual lifetime highway mile markers reminding us how far we’ve come, then invite the possibilities of what’s left to come. I realized that this past year I spent a lot of time in the present. I wrote a lot about getting stuck. Stickiness that stemmed from all sorts of things, and sometimes we create our own quagmires as a means of avoidance.
It’s the president’s best practice, distract and avoid. When you have no idea how to lead, do what a dog does best, bark and sound fierce. So afraid are you of leading, that you spend time creating distractions that make you appear powerful.
I didn’t pretend to be brave the last year. I don’t even think I was. I just kept beginning again. I would not choose the present as my ending. Life had to get better. And every day I held true to the belief that we are given another chance to make a new ending.
I remember on September 19 when I wrote this first draft, that I ran into a glitch. I wrote more than I found this morning. About four more paragraphs to be exact. And I recall admiring how smart I thought I was. So smart that all those smart paragraphs with their smart words are gone. Maybe they were nothing in the end. Or maybe they were something to me, with no meaning to others. It matters not now. What matters is the act of beginning something, because when the end comes there will be no more beginnings.
So today, and tomorrow and the next is the perfect time to begin.