Perfectly imperfect

How ironic, I think in hindsight.

I am home, making myself breakfast. I try, for the umpteenth time, to draw a heart of milk in my coffee. Some sort of shape comes out. It’s imperfect. It works as a reminder to myself: Embrace imperfection. Life feels smoother when you do.

As I am doing and thinking all this, I am running 10 minutes late to a meeting, except I am completely oblivious to this happening. As I flip my eggs on the pan, I look at the clock in the kitchen: 10:35, I read. I still have 25 minutes to enjoy my breaky and get to the laptop.

I grab my plate and cup of coffee and sit by the kitchen bar. I take a bite, and then another. Before the third bite, I grab my phone. Who knows what for? Habit, I suppose. Whatever I was going to do with it freezes in time as I see a message: Maria, I am in the call. My mind freezes. Fuck! I scream. First in my brain, then out loud and lastly, in a text. I reply: fuck again! But I actually meant, fuck, again?! Because one thing I hate is being late and people being late, and yet, this was the second meeting within 2 weeks with this person and the second time I was late.

Frustration, embarrassment and a bodily tension fill me up. I call her on the phone. Once. Twice. No response. My blood is boiling, but I am not noticing it because I have lost touch with my thinking and all I feel is despair. She answers on the third call. My burst of words, apologies, and explanations sounds like an echo. Her silence speaks of frustration. I get it. I have been the person on the other side. Being left waiting. As if my time did not matter. And then, during the call, as we agreed on a new time, tears burst out of me. I start crying like a person who just got the news that her best friend just died or her dog got sick.

It takes me half an hour to stop crying. It takes extra energy to engage my rational brain and ask myself: Why do I feel so bad about this?. It is just a meeting, some people would say. But it is so many things to me. The meeting is one of several coaching sessions I signed up for because I need it. I said I was going to try and give my best, and being late is not giving my best. It is the one thing I was looking forward to that day, and around which I reorganized other things in my calendar. And yet, I failed. I failed myself. I failed the person. I failed my business.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Do it again. The tension is finally receding. Am I tired?, I ask myself. As if I need to find a reason that explains why I reacted so profoundly to this event. It feels so wrong to feel so much for what seems so little. This is what we do with our intense emotions way too often: we diminish them, we downplay them. Even worse, many times, we try to suppress them. Instead, what we should do is ask ourselves why we are feeling them, what are they trying to tell us?

In my case, this intense mix of frustration, embarrassment and despair was telling me that this meeting was important to me. For what it promised in content, but also because the act of being there for a service shows respect and interest to the person offering it. Because the most valuable thing a person can give you is their time and attention, and I want to respect and appreciate it. Because I want to get the same respect and appreciation, as well.

And therein lies the perfection of our imperfections: if we pay attention, they may have something to teach us. I am calmer now. I plan to be on time next time. I will be gentle with myself.

Happy Wednesday,
Maria 🌺