Progress, Not Perfection
I have recently been dreaming of going to a live concert. Remember those days when we went to live shows worry and mask free. But it’s not for the reasons you might think.
Some of my favorite moments from these shows with some of the world’s top performers is when they forgot the words or when a string broke on a guitar or someone in the audience shouted something crazy that threw the performer off or the band got a little bit too stoned before the first set and couldn't keep up.
Inevitably when these things happen, the audience always breaks out in applause praising their fuck ups. “Wooh! We love you!”
The reason I think we live for these moments of imperfection is because there's this momentary bond between the artist we’ve been worshipping for the past 90 minutes and the audience. We remember for that split second that we are all human.
And the most beautiful thing about those moments is the recovery. No matter what, they kept going. No matter how many tens of thousands of hours you played that guitar or how much you rehearsed those lyrics. No matter how prepared your set list and roadies are, you cannot predict what the Universe throws at you. And you have to learn to improvise.
* * *
When I was 17, my parents let me go on my first road trip two hours away. My brother was in college at Ball State University. He and his girlfriend had invited me to go to the James Dean festival not far from Muncie, Indiana. I was a huge James Dean fan.
So I packed up the car with snacks, my overnight bag, and my best mixtapes, even a new one I had made especially for the trip. About 10 miles from home I got on the Interstate and picked my speed up to 70 in my royal blue Honda Accord. But when I merged onto the highway my mixtape case fell on the floor.
Oh no, everything must be perfect. I gotta have my tapes. I hadn’t even listened to the new one yet. So without thinking I reached down to pick them up. When I did I heard a thump thump and looked back on the road to find the driver's side was now off the berm of the highway toward the median. Fuck!
So I then did the exact thing my driver’s ed teacher had told me not to do in this situation and I yanked the steering wheel to get the car back on the road. When I did that though, the car flipped. The little blue Honda Accord did a complete 360 and landed in the grassy median.
I don’t remember going upside down and landing with a thud. All I remember is opening my eyes to dirt in the car and grass on my lap and the car stalled out. So with my hands shaking I try to start the engine again and again. Nothing. That’s when I noticed a couple cars had pulled over. A nice couple knocked on my window and asked if they could help. They told me I flipped.
I never made it to the festival. My car was totaled. I know today I’m lucky to be alive.
When I catch myself spiraling into one of my perfectionist tailspins trying to craft the perfect sentence, I’ll say you don’t have to flip your car over it, Laurel.
* * *
Flash forward to the early 2000s I was the announcer for our local public radio station’s pledge drive. During the afternoon show, I had to operate the board, pod mics up and down and get us in and out of the breaks.
One day we had a local guest on the air, a philanthropist I had known for years from previous fundraisers, someone who had given a LOT of money to the station. When I went to introduce her on the air I said: “You’re listening to All Things Considered. Help us reach our goal of $10,000. I’m joined in the studio today by … (thudump-thudump-thudump) …the always lovely … ooooohhh noooooo!
Yep, I drew a complete fucking blank. For years and still today my armpits sweat when I think about that moment. After that the station manager pulled me off live events for a while.
* * *
I’m still struggling with my imperfections today. In “2 Lives” I can edit out the ums and the uhs. I can retrack my narration if I feel a burp coming on or I stumble over my phrasing.
A few weeks ago I had a job interview and I felt pretty confident going into it. I had done my power pose for a solid five minutes. Told myself, “you got this!” I even prepared a list of answers and anecdotes to the most commonly asked job interview questions to avoid the dreaded live radio moment.
But when I got on the zoom call, the committee asked none of them. NONE! And I had to improvise. For 60 minutes I squirmed and floundered and gave the most awkward ass examples. Hell, I even had a moment when they asked about a challenging situation with a coworker and I brought up a dysfunctional messed up problem I had not processed completely from my last job and heard my voice start to shake. I finally snapped out of it, when a committee member said, “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”
I felt totally exposed.
For several days after, anytime I closed my eyes my mind flashed back to the most awkward moments of the interview or worse I thought of 18 better ways I could’ve answered their questions. I wanted to call them up and say, “hey that version of me wasn’t really me!”
It wasn’t until I debriefed with a friend who said, “wow it sounds like you were really wrapped up in perfection. We’re certainly not as harsh on everybody else as we are on ourselves.”
She was absolutely right. But instead of saying jeez, Laurel, you don’t have to flip your car over it. She reminded me of one of my most recited AlAnon slogans.
“Progress, not perfection.”
Each day we’re presented with moments where we may or may not fuck up and I can choose to lean into those moments of vulnerability and accept myself, or not. But I know the more I lean into acceptance, the easier I’ll move through mistakes in the future.
The reason I don’t stay under the covers and avoid all risks is that I know two little girls (who are not so little) who are watching me.
Last week my youngest daughter tried out for a solo in her school’s holiday show. And she didn’t get it. I told her, “I was so proud of her for trying.” And, “that’s their loss. You’re amazing!” And, “I know there’s another part out there for you.” I said all that because I would hate for her to get defeated by her own idea of perfection or stop trying out just because she couldn’t guarantee she’d get picked every time.
And maybe I needed to tell myself those things.
And maybe in my best moments I can imagine a crowd of friends cheering, “wooh! We still love you.”
