On progress vs. perfection

Greetings cave critters,

File this post under things shared around the campfire.  There won't be any pictures of mountains.

I will show you this picture of an insect.  It has absolutely nothing to do with this post.  It just happens to be one of my favorite pictures of all time.

For much of much** my life, I have suffered from perfectionism.  I suspect that most perfectionists are driven to do things absolutely correctly and won't put up with any mistakes.  My perfectionism is a bit different.  To me, my default was that if something couldn't be completely right, well then just screw it.

**I'm getting better.  I'm going to leave that typo right where it is.  That's my way of helping you get over your O.C.D.  Two birds with one stone!

A few things over the past few days have had me musing about this topic of progress vs. perfection.

The other day I was working out by the river.  In these COVID times when the gyms are often closed, I have gotten creative in finding ways to work out.  One of my favorites is to bike to a river and use river rocks for weight training.  With all those rocks God put there of various shapes, sizes, and weights, who needs a weight room?!  Anyway, as I was happily grunting my way through a caveman-worthy workout, it dawned on me that I was at a place on the river that was a milestone of sorts.  A few years ago, when I started getting in shape I remember the first time I rode my bicycle there.  It's about 8 miles.  That seemed so far at the time.  Now going there is really nothing.  It is about as taxing as walking to 7-11.  I go there to start working out.  (Come to think of it, back in those days, going to 7-11 was probably as taxing as riding 8 miles is today.)

Later that afternoon I was home and was hunting through the medicine cabinet for something or other and came across a whole variety of ace bandages and rehabilitation-type bands that I needed in the past.  I had forgotten all those things.  For the first year or two of working out, it seemed like there was always at least one part of my body that was out of commission--a frozen joint here, a muscle strain there . . .  It seemed like I always had to work out around the parts that weren't working.

Now, I feel really no pain anywhere.  I feel more healthy and athletic than I did when I was in high school or college.

Why?

Receiving encouragement from someone who loved me and focussing on the joy of progress rather than the insistence on perfection are two pieces of the puzzle.

My exercise life now and all this fun I have in the woods started with my blushing bride's encouragement before her daddy pulled out his shotgun.  (OK, there was no shotgun involved, but you know what I'm talking about.)  We married a bit later in life.  (At least in my life.  She's much younger than me.)  When we were courting, I had been living a sedentary lifestyle for a long time.  I was fat.  I had been smoking for over 30 years.  When I broached the topic that I smoked with her, I told her that I wouldn't be surprised if it were a dealbreaker for her; and that though I wanted to quit I had never been really able to put them down.  She replied with the most amazing response, "Well, I understand.  I just wish you could live a long time so we could have a long, happy life together."

That type of loving encouragement with the added dimension of not compelling me to quit was just what I needed.  I knew smoking was bad for me all my life but when my teachers, society, parents, etc. said "Don't do that!",  it just made me want to smoke more.  (When I see smokers being shunned in society today, part of me wants to tell them I'm down with their struggle.)  

After decades of smoking, I was able to put it down really easily.  Ridiculously easily.  The other times I'd tried to stop were torture.

Not long after that, as our wedding was approaching, I decided to try to shed some pounds.  Now, most of my life I have hated exercise.    I never understood those weirdos who talked about enjoying working out.  I had no idea what an endorphin rush was.  Is that a trick play in football or lunchtime at Seaworld?  I just knew what wheezing and pain were.  The invitation "Let's go for a run." sounded to me as much fun as "Let's go bang our thumbs with hammers."  I was never a jock in school.  (My perfectionism wouldn't allow me to play any sport unless I could beat people like Michael Jordan.)  In the army, I learned a lot of exercises, but it always felt like punishment and I never saw improvement.

Anyway, I got a personal trainer for a month.  I made some changes in my diet.  It's amazing how effective exercising and eating less crap can be when you're really out of shape.  I can't remember exactly how much, but I think I lost probably 10 pounds in the first month.

That was 5 or 6 years ago.  Now I continue to still enjoy working out.  It's not about expecting perfection though.  I shoot for perfection but I don't berate myself for not attaining it.  That is the kind of thinking that kept me sitting on the floor eating Cheetos and smoking Marlboros all those years.  I still have a bit of a spare tire--but I'm not going to obsess over that.  I am just happy not to be the Michelin man anymore!  I do challenge myself.  I would go so far as to say that I even "fat-shamed" myself sometimes when working out.  "Come on, fatso, is that the best you're got?"  haha  But I do that tongue in cheek.  I know the only one I'm competing with is myself and I really do enjoy seeing the positive changes in my body and mind's condition.

There're a few sentences in a spiritual book I like a lot:  

Do not be discouraged. No one among us has been able to maintain anything like perfect adherence to these principles. We are not saints. The point is, that we are willing to grow along spiritual lines. The principles we have set down are guides to progress. We claim spiritual progress rather than spiritual perfection.

Some people might take this to mean that we shouldn't try to be saints.  That's not what it means to me.  It simply means I'm not going to give up because I'm not a saint now.  Just as I'm not going to give up working out because I'm not as fast as Usain Bolt or as strong as Arnold Schwarzenegger.  (I am going to keep trying to catch up with them though.  Who knows? I might just do it.)

I had a similar experience with music throughout my life.  I started playing guitar when I was about 10.  I liked it but dropped it after a few years because I hadn't become as good as Eric Clapton.  Decades later I picked it up again and was able to improve and enjoy it when I changed my attitude.  I stopped expecting perfection of myself and remembered it's supposed to be about playing.  Then I was ready for music because playing is fun.

I'm at a loss for a pithy statement to end with so I'll add my version of this quote that I've heard.

I may not be the man I ought to be or the man that I will be--but thank God, I’m not the man I was.

I'll be away from the mountains for a few weeks.  Hopefully I'll have something to post around the end of June.

Lk 5:16