The Story I Tell Myself

Writing is my passion, but it doesn't always come easily to me. We don't always excel in every moment of the activity that drives us. And that is okay.

At least, that's what I've learned to tell myself; the new story about my story telling. Perhaps it will be helpful if you knew the old story I told myself, as well as the story of how my thinking changed.

For as long as I can remember I've been a perfectionist. A not-so-uncommon story to tell oneself. I liked to draw for fun, but when my drawings and paintings didn't live up to my expectations I started to lose interest. I would create wonderful, wild, imaginative stories in my head, but whenever I tried to put them to paper they were never as vibrant as what I had imagined. Something was lost in the translation and I just couldn't be comfortable sharing my written work knowing that it paled so much in comparison to its inspiration. So, my stories lived in my head. To be told over and over to an audience of one: me, their creator.

I lived in my head so much that I didn't (and still don't) make friends all that easily. In elementary school I ate my lunch at school in the lunchroom while the few friends I had would go home for lunch. After eating lunch all the kids in the lunch program went outside to play. I would wander around the field aimlessly; up a hill down the other side to the fence, turn around, back up the hill, circle the tree, kick at a stone, slide through the mud going down the hill, across toward the kids playing kick ball, stop now you're getting to close, turn toward the school... All the while I would be telling myself stories. Most often my imagined stories were like movies. Sometimes I even thought about how they could be made into movies, if I could just get the story out of my head. Eventually my friends would return from their homes and we would play for a bit before the afternoon classes began.

As I got older my need to present only the best of myself kept me closed off from the people around me and caused great stress on my academics. I could do really well in subjects like math and sciences where the answers to problems weren't subjective; I either got the right answer, or I didn't. But writing essays and reports were a struggle, and so I often didn't even do my best.

The line of thinking goes like this: “Why spend the effort to make it the “best” when the best I can write is never as good as what I create in my head? All I can produce is mediocrity, so let's not waste my time.”

As I moved on to university even producing any type of written assignment seemed to be a “waste of time,” and so I had a long history of not turning in assignments. As my math and physics courses became more abstract and required more creativity they, too, began to fall into the pile of unfinished assignments.

Perhaps you can see where this is going. Yes, I failed courses. I left school, came back again, struggled again, but pushed through enough to graduate. I had no desire to do anything with my B.Sc. in Physics. But I had begun to put myself out there, just a little. I taught fun, educational science workshops as a “Mad Scientist.” I ran a youth program at my church. I shared some of my stories with the youth, and then with the rest of the church. I was asked to offer a reflection in one of the church services. I was asked again. Then someone suggested I consider going into ministry. Then someone else made the same suggestion. And someone else, and someone else...

So I went back to school. And I struggled again. And I left again. And I knew I still had more healing to do.

I've grappled with this sense of needing to always “put forth my best.” You can know that it's okay to not be perfect, to offer to share something that isn't perfect, without actually knowing it. You can be told and you can tell yourself over and over and over again. But until it sinks in, until it becomes real to you, the old story is still the one you're really telling yourself.

So, here's the crucial part: this hasn't really sunk in for me, yet.

That's the real truth and the real story.

Deep down I still don't really believe that it's okay to not be perfect. What makes me able to share this with you, what is making this blog possible right now is that I want to tell a different story. Not for the first time: I obviously had some success in putting myself out there in my teaching and leading and preaching. And I've had support over the years to push myself; support that I am grateful for beyond words.

So, again I am choosing to put forth things that feel unfinished or mediocre. I share my writing with the world and I see that others are appreciating what I'm sharing. My hope is that the more I do this, the more power I have to shift my internal story.

Maybe, one day, I won't see my writing as unfit to publish. And, if not, I guess I'll just keep sharing the “garbage” that others find entertaining.

What stories do you tell yourself?