Character over perfection. This has been my summer mantra. For good reason.
I would like to return my form of OCD in exchange for a more useful prescription of it.
Some of my favorite memories were spent laid out on a blanket in my grandparents living room floor. Them, relaxing in their recliners. Nannymom, my great-grandmother, curled up on her corner of the couch. My reserved spot was sprawled out in front of the TV, with my favorite stuffed animals. The Cabbage Patch dolls were big fans of Dallas and Dynasty like the rest of us. I completely missed who shot JR, due to obsessively smoothing out the wrinkles in my blanket. My jester grandfather delighted in my irritation by stepping on my blanket, creating a wrinkle, just as I had gotten it perfect. The next 7 minutes were spent straightening it back out, pretending my hand was an iron, over and over, until it was creaseless again.
In recent years, I mentioned this while sharing a story with a therapist friend. Her reply was, “Really? We should process that sometime.” Huh? Did you hear my story? What could there possibly be to process in this scenario? Who wants to sit on a wrinkled-up blanket? Clearly this behavior of control and perfection is completely normal.
My husband and I have a joke that I am not high maintenance on anyone but myself. And by joke, I mean, he is completely serious. This means I don’t expect others to prepare things how I like it, I’ll do it. Besides, it would take too long for me to tell you how to do it correctly. This is my confession.
Wouldn’t it be so neat if everyone could sit on their own blanket, and I could just sit on mine. If you choose to have wrinkles on your magic blanket, then you are bat-flip crazy. Nevertheless, you do you friend…on your blanket. That would be my perfect scenario, but that isn’t life. Life is messy, and there are more spots of quicksand than there are smooth, soft blankets.
I was reminded of my quirky ways last week while packing for a four-day meditation retreat in Colorado. In the email, I was told to pack comfy clothes; yoga pants, shorts, t-shirts, and a sweatshirt. We were aiming for comfort, headed to the mountains to be one with nature. It took me no less than 2 hours to pack one small suitcase, a backpack, and a travel purse.
At one point in the packing frenzy, I walked through the living room looking for sympathy, and mentioned I was so tired of packing. My husband’s reply was, “You should be.” He is known to be sweetly subtle. Hubs just doesn’t understand that it takes a WHILE to pick out all my favorite tees, and pair each one with a pullover, jeans AND shorts…just in case Mother Nature couldn’t make up her mind that day. I needed my sunless tanning system, as you can agree it would be a tragedy to lose my tan while tucked away in the aspen trees. I shouldn’t have to explain the need for my portable steamer, you know how I feel about wrinkles.
As my suitcase ran out of space, I sent my cousin a quick text to see if she was bringing a blow dryer. She wasn’t, but said she would pack hers for me. Awesome. Wait, what if her blow dryer didn’t have an ion setting? I should probably just bring my own. Along with my curling iron. And straightener. My hair has to be so confused by now. Naturally curly hair, but blowed dried straight, flat ironed, then loosely re-curled. I’m surprised each hair on my head hasn’t jumped ship by now. Dear hair, thank you for being a friend.
This picky, quirky behavior is not the impression that I like to give off. I’d rather come off as a laid-back, chill gal. For the most part I am…regarding you. I have no expectations projected on you. But, when it comes to myself, I’m total maintenance. I work really hard to hide my desire to have everything just so, by doing most of my work under the radar. Still, the people who have actually traveled WITH me should be added to your prayer list.
I have several friends, who were blessed with a handy form of OCD. Some leave their houses spotless every morning; not a dish in the sink, every bed in the house is beautifully made, everything glistens like a real-life Disney movie.
As wacky and OCD as I am, I didn’t get this useful portion of it. My strand looks like;
– How can I leave for work when my photo album closet is in shambles?
– How will my children know I love them if I don’t finish their summer chatbooks to document their camps?
– I simply cannot start on my to-do list today with my jewelry cabinet in the situation it’s in….the gold is touching the silver and it just gives me the creeps.
– Why is that gray shirt hanging with the white shirts in my color-coded closet?? Clearly we have had a break-in, I’d better go check the locks. Again. For the 32nd time.
– I can’t write this morning with my floors looking like I just shaved our dogs on their way out the back door.
Yet, I can leave my bed looking like a tornado hit it, and I’m okay with this. My friend, Christine, told me that an unmade bed is actually healthy, it gives your sheets a chance to breath. I’m gonna go with this theory.
Surely, I have some redeeming qualities as well, but it’s not my job in this space to try to dig those up. Character over perfection. Surely, quirky counts for character right?
What if we could let go of the perfection and embrace the character? Perfection controls while character grows.
*On a side note – while in the mountains, I didn’t once dig out my sunless tanning system. There is something spiritual about letting go and embracing your authentic, normal colored self. Big lessons. This guy didn’t mind at all…
As expected, my steamer was put to good use. Sleep well friend, not a wrinkle in sight.
