“Good enough.”
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| Luke's Quilt |
I couldn’t believe I actually heard myself saying that. But
that was the case just a few days ago as I was joining the ends of the binding
on a quilt that I had been working on for the past five months. For those of
you familiar with quilting, you might be able to relate when I say that joining
the ends of binding is one of my least favorite tasks in the process (second
only to pin basting the quilt sandwich once I complete the quilt top). And my desire
is that when I join the ends that the edges line up perfectly. But they seldom do.
In this instance, the edges hardly lined up. It actually
kind of came out kind of sloppy. But after five months of patience,
persistence, and good old-fashioned sweat putting this quilt together I came to
the conclusion that while my efforts to join the binding ends were far from
perfect, they would have to do – simply because I didn’t have it in me to rip
out the stitches and try again.
This brings me to larger point. A few years ago, while I was
working in the corporate world (which I’m still doing, but in a different
corporate setting), the higher-ups thought it might be fun for all of the staff
to take one of those personality-type tests. I’m not sure which one it was, but
it doesn’t really matter.
Anyway, I’d like to say my “label” was unique, but I
actually came out in the same classification as about 60 percent of the staff –
“perfectionist.”
Wow. Perfectionist. In some ways I wouldn’t consider myself
a perfectionist at all, but as I examine my inner depths I guess maybe I am. I
do want things to be just as perfect as possible – including myself. And I have
always stressed out if there wasn’t something about myself that was just
perfect. Being that I’m wrought with imperfection, that would mean I’m quite
stressed.
Well, a couple of years ago I took up quilting. I thought it
would be a fun thing to do. I’ve always loved quilts – their simple beauty. And
to me, a handmade quilt simply exudes love. I actually had it on my bucket list
to make a quilt. So I took a class and made a small quilt, and loved the
creative process so much that I just kept on going.
I made a quilt for my youngest son Sam, one for my
grandmother, one for my best friend from high school, one for my dad, and now I’ve
just finished one for my middle son Luke – a gift for his upcoming high school
graduation. (My next project – one for
my oldest son Clay.)
And what have I learned in the process? I’ve learned that if
you’re a perfectionist and want to be broken of that, there’s nothing better
than to take up quilting.
Because unless you’re an absolute master quilter (which I’m
not), you’ll most likely look imperfection in
the eye. Dozens of times during the process of creating any masterpiece
of mine, I’ll cringe at this flaw, or that one. And as I gift my quilts to my
loved ones I will make a point to say (as if I owe an explanation) that while
the quilt was made with the ultimate of love, it has many flaws – just like me.
Yes, I cringe at the flaws. But the interesting thing is
when the quilt is all made and I take a step back and look at the entire piece,
I find it to be absolutely beautiful. I
don’t even notice the flaws.
It got me to thinking. Could we as humans be so obsessive
about our tiny flaws that we’re unable to take a step back, see ourselves as
whole people and appreciate how beautiful we are?
I’ve never denied my flaws. While I won’t divulge them here
(those who know me best know what they are), I can’t help but wonder if one of
my ultimate flaws is being so obsessive about my flaws that I don’t
appreciate my own value as a whole
person.
In that sense, maybe I should give myself a break. And while
I think there’s always opportunity for self-reflection and self-improvement,
maybe it doesn’t hurt once in a while to accept yourself and say “good enough.”
As for the quilt I just finished, it’s not perfect, but not
bad. But it doesn’t have to be perfect. I made it for my son Luke, who I love
deeply. And when he cuddles up under the new quilt that I just finished and put
on to his bed tonight, I don’t necessarily need for him to inspect the binding,
or examine whether all the stitches are straight. I don’t know whether he’ll
notice if all the seams line up. I don’t care.
All I really want for him to do is to get under that quilt
tonight and know that his mother loves him.
