The big juicy Zorba scheme of things

The other day, I took a bus from Pasco, WA to Portland, OR. Being the person I am, I marched up the steps of the bus with my backpack slung over my shoulder and tossed it in a vacant seat without any reservations. I listened to conversations around me as we waited for others to board and found them entertaining. But when we finally rolled away from the station my nerves began to escalate so I tried to sleep. Sleeping didn’t last too long and I began planning my next move if our bus was attacked. If a shooter was on board what I might do, or if the bus driver took a wrong turn down a dark alley, or if someone tried to take my bag. While I calculated my moves I played it cool by playing around on my phone and reading a book. With my hidden fear I sat quite alert for the rest of the 5 hour trip. Busses just aren’t the best form of public transportation these days. The common person flies, the more adventurous common person takes a train, and anyone else who can’t afford the alternatives opt for the bus. It made me wonder what other people were thinking of me. 

While sitting on the bus thumbing through emails on my phone I came across an email from REI titled, “Find Out Which Camp Type You Are.” I felt like I was back in Jr. High when friends would email quizzes and questionnaires. I never missed one. So I was happy to volunteer to take the quiz to see if my camp type was the Ring Leader, Story Teller, Chef, Gear Head, DJ or Adventurer. Sometimes I only answer after reading both the question and answer 2 or 3 times to make sure I understand, then I read them a few more times to make sure my answer is most like me. Just to be sure I’m not allowing expectations of others to dictate my responses.  Other times, which is most often, I go with my initial instinct ignoring those expectations, and I hardly finish reading all the questions before I’m certain I’ve found the answer for me. As it turned out my Camp Type is The Adventurer: Up before the sun, you’re gone. There are trails to hike, rivers to raft, rock faces to climb. Your motto? “Back by dinner.” I considered the other options and agreed that this is most who I am.  I enjoy the early mornings, but I enjoy the peace and calm about them, I don’t feel the need to rush. I would prefer to wait for everyone else before heading out, because, really, who wants to do any of those things alone? I enjoyed the short activity and the revelation that came with it.

After that quiz I decided for some time travel. I put in some headphones and played my favorite CD from when I was 12 and listened to the words of a song that held the top spot all through my adolescent years. As I listened to the words I thought about how much I loved those words growing up, how they were my dreams, and how they still resonate with me 13 years later.

I said I wanna touch the earth. I wanna break it in my hands. I wanna grow something wild and unruly. I wanna sleep on the hard ground in the comfort of your arms on a pillow of blue bonnets and a blanket made of stars.

I wanna walk and not run. I wanna trip and not fall. I wanna look at the horizon and not see a building standing tall. I wanna be the only one for miles and miles except for maybe you and your simple smile. Oh, it sounds good to me. Yes, it sounds so good to me. 

The rest of my bus ride I reflected on my childhood dreams. Dreams of becoming a country singer. Living in the wild West. Riding horses. Backpacking and exploring. Living in a small little cabin in the woods making mud pies and teaching my kids. Defending my family from any wild beasts. Traveling by boat to escape mudslides and tornadoes. 

It was a fun activity remembering the games and dreams I acted out so many years ago. I wonder where they went. What I appreciate is that Jesus calls us to become like little children. I think it's important for us to reflect on our childlikeness, the years of our adolescence. We are born with character and personality that helps shape our goals and dreams and we believe in them, until someone tells us we're wrong, and not just once but over and over. The older I get, the harder I work at molding my dreams and goals to look more like the loud, imperious expectations of others. It seems less selfish to please someone else, but how wrong I am, and how weak I've become.

I had a conversation with a student yesterday who, like me and so many of us, is struggling with the desire/expectation to be perfect. As I thought of what I could say to her, my mouth started letting words out and before I knew what happened I had told her that "Perfect" shouldn't be a word. It shouldn't be in the dictionary, because it doesn't exist. Jesus wasn't even perfect, he was sinless, but not perfect. Perfection lies in the eyes of the beholder, it is a perspective, not a rule. When my mouth was finally closed I thought about what I had just said. It was freeing for me to hear those words. We cannot be perfect, because it doesn't exist. If I could I'd remove that word from our language. I'd move to a country, and learn a new language, where that word didn't exist. 

The other day I was reading a piece from Anne Lamott on perfection. Everything she writes here is just what I needed to hear. I think we ought to delete such a word from our vocabulary, focus less on our own imperfections and more on our gifts and how we can use them to help others see their own gifts and become better together, like Anne says: 

"Oh my God, what if you wake up some day, and you're 65, or 75, and you never got your memoir or novel written; or you didn't go swimming in warm pools and oceans all those years because your thighs were jiggly and you had a nice big comfortable tummy; or you were just so strung out on perfectionism and people-pleasing that you forgot to have a big juicy creative life, of imagination and radical silliness and staring off into space like when you were a kid? It's going to break your heart. Don't let this happen. Repent just means to change direction--and NOT to be said by someone who is waggling their forefinger at you. Repentance is a blessing. Pick a new direction, one you wouldn't mind ending up at, and aim for that. Shoot the moon.

Here's how to break through the perfectionism: make a LOT of mistakes. Fall on your butt more often. Waste more paper, printing out your shitty first drafts, and maybe send a check to the Sierra Club. Celebrate messes—these are where the goods are. Put something on the calendar that you know you'll be terrible at, like dance lessons, or a meditation retreat, or boot camp.Find a writing partner, who will help you with your work, by reading it for you, and telling you the truth about it, with respect, to help you make it better and better; for whom you will do the same thing. Find someone who wants to steal his or her life back, too. Now; today. One wild and crazy thing: wears shorts out in public if it is hot, even if your legs are milky white or heavy. 

At work, you begin to fulfill your artistic destiny. Wow! A reviewer may hate your style, or newspapers may neglect you, or 500 people may tell you that you are bitter, delusional and boring.

Let me ask you this: in the big juicy Zorba scheme of things, who fucking cares?"

I have a long record of mistakes. I have let a lot of people down. And I know I have let others' expectations dictate big decisions I've made. But right now, I'm content with where my decisions have led me. This adventurer is off for more adventures. There will be a lot of mistakes. There will be a lot of ugliness, but I am hopeful that there will be a lot of loveliness. It's all part of the seasons.