There was a time when perfection was a goal that nagged at me day and night…I had to be the best and you had to realize it or I had to work harder to prove it to you. Being common was not good enough for me because someone had indicated that was beneath what they considered acceptable, and I was foolish enough to believe I had a standard to live up to for being whole.
Succeeding in all things is not reality so struggle all you want but if you are great at sports you may not want to try out for choir if you are tone-deaf. Struggle all you want with your inabilities to paint or be happy with the stick figures you can draw and amuse yourself.
When I was trying so hard to be the best at everything, I found a way to soften the blow. I found relief in a few cocktails which convinced me I didn’t care about the outcome of life. I wasn’t happy, but I really didn’t care about that either. The most important thing was to hide my mediocrity in the feel good drunk of some alcohol and then struggle back to reality when the morning came.
Life hadn’t changed and I still couldn’t be the best at everything except for the feeling of disgust with myself for falling into the guilt of caring what someone else had decided should be my reality. Convincing anyone of my greatness, including myself, was becoming too big a chore. I had let the haunting of mediocrity warp my self worth. I am me and I had worked myself into a hateful relationship with myself.
First things first, I put the booze aside and decided being me would be a process of accepting the good and the inferior. I am a nice person, but I am terrible at any sport. I love to cook and do a great job. I don’t have to tell you…just take a bite and see for yourself. Remember you won’t like everything about me, but it is all right.
I am okay with being in the middle of life…no longer fearing being mediocre. If I can improve on an activity I love, I will endeavor to work harder to achieve success. Everything is not for me. And I really don’t have to be the best.