— Lame Deer, in Lame Deer, Seeker of Visions“You have to be God and the devil, both of them. Being a good medicine man means being right in the midst of the turmoil, not shielding yourself from it…Nature, the Great Spirit — they are not perfect. The world couldn’t stand that perfection. The Spirit has a good side and a bad side. Sometimes the bad side gives me more knowledge than the good side.”
I hate to make mistakes. The burn of humiliation is horrible. I don’t want anyone to see that I’ve messed up, or failed at anything. It’s a terrible feeling to get into an accident and to think: how could I have been so stupid? Couldn’t I have seen this coming?
Yet TS Eliot wrote in his poem East Coker
Do not let me hear Of the wisdom of old men, but rather of their folly, Their fear of fear and frenzy, their fear of possession, Of belonging to another, or to others, or to God. The only wisdom we can hope to acquire Is the wisdom of humility: humility is endless.
How can I hope to acquire the wisdom of humility without folly, fear, and frenzy?
Perfection is no fun
Have you ever met a perfect person that was any fun to be around?
Although I think I’d like to be perfect, perfection is alienating. I can’t feel close to a perfect person. I don’t think they’d understand me, because I am so flawed. And I couldn’t trust that person, because perfection is an image – it’s not reality.
I’d like to do everything perfectly, know everything, look perfect, have a perfect life. Yet, nature doesn’t create perfection, except in brief moments that seem perfect. But perfection doesn’t last. It is also entirely subjective.
I can feel very close to the mind of a great artist whose work is, to me, right now, perfect. I can look for places where perfection is attainable: in mathematics, architecture, design. There are works that humans can create that are, to some, perfect. But there isn’t a single work that has been created that everyone perceives as perfect. And what I might enjoy today, I dislike tomorrow. My moods are ever-changing.
Not one holy book, poem, painting, or song has been judged by all who experienced it as perfect. Every work of art has its haters. It’s the same in nature: some people like the mountains. Others like the beach. Some people like cold, and others prefer the heat. What’s a perfect day? Depends on whom you ask.
Perfectly imperfect
I can know all of this intellectually, yet I still yearn to be perfect. I also know that any person I meet who pretends to be perfect, or is defensive and won’t admit mistakes, is imperfect to me. The most perfect person might be she who is willing to admit imperfection. How can this be?
When I can be OK with my mistakes, I can accept yours. When I can own my shortcomings, you will know that you can be real with me. I can only be safe to you if I’m kind to myself. If I hold myself to an impossible standard, you’ll feel it, and you’ll be on guard around me. You’ll sense that my inner critic is waiting to pounce.
I love the saying, “We’re all bozos on the same bus.” This expression isn’t perfect, and might offend some people. That’s OK. But every time I make a mistake now, I try to say to myself, “Oh, Caroline. You adorable human. Look at you! A bozo on the bus, just like everyone else.”
If I give myself permission to mess up and to be messy, I will allow you to do and be the same.
If I try to be perfect, I’ll try to be better than you. Failing at perfection, I’ll see myself as less than you. Both positions distance me from you. I can’t understand you if I’m posturing like that.
No easy way out
It’s so hard for me to say, “Wow, I was wrong! I didn’t see that. I messed that up. I wasn’t there for you / I wasn’t paying attention / I wish I had done better.” But those words are medicine to hear. If someone is willing to admit imperfection to me, I find it such a relief. So I’m working on admitting it myself, hoping that by doing what’s hard, I’m also doing what’s right.
It might seem easy to defend myself. But I push others away when I do so. It might seem really hard to admit I messed up. But I grow closer to others when I do.
I’ve been fired. I’ve gotten divorced. I’ve damaged relationships that matter to me. I’ve trusted the wrong people and mistrusted the right ones. I’ve slashed my cornea because I wasn’t paying attention. I’ve said and done so many things that I regret.
If I’m lucky, I’ve still got years of mistakes left in me. I can only hope that each mistake might bring me closer to you.
