It's Perfect

Dear Dad,

Still thinking about my last letter. I had a counselor who once used this phrase... It's perfect. It really caught my attention because I catch myself being a perfectionist, which in my world, only allows me to never attain perfection. And here was this guy, pointing out perfection in the real world.

It's perfect, he would say when the weather was good and we had a good hike, followed by an ice cream cone. He was right. How often do I notice perfection? It's such a good question. Because it does happen. You have a bike ride where the temperature, the trail, the whole experience, literally couldn't be better. You have a vacation where the weather cooperates, the hiking is great, the company fabulous. You have a perfect meal with friends sitting outside in the summer. It's perfect! or as perfect as human imperfect can be.

Maybe, I get stuck in perfection more in my behavior with others. There are much less of those perfect experiences. Brings up Montaigne's how to live questions. One of Montaigne's answers is Pay attention. I am doing all this reading about mindfulness but sometimes my focus on little pleasures distracts me from the ongoing big picture of a problem to the point of avoidance...Focussing on a great bike ride and an ice cream cone is fine on a Sunday. But how do I balance that against a serious problem I need to solve in the next week?

Sometimes, even my work of thinking about a problem can be avoided too long. Or thought about too much. I drift between impulsiveness and thoughtfulness. There is that perfectionism. I'm wishing for the perfect way to solve the problem of how to solve a problem!!!

I didn't really come to you with many problems. Again, I had this big internal world. And stubborn independence. And you weren't around as much. It makes me sad. I guess the way I worked the loss and sadness out was with my own children. Because what I missed, the loss of you; some of it is not having little moments like daily breakfast with Nadia  and Andrew before they left for school, a hug when they came home, folding laundry and having a conversation about a problem they were having. That's the juicy meat of relationships to me.

I don't remember each individual day. But its a great collection triggered by the problem, the place, being able to help, say the right thing (which had a percentage of happening). Daily stuff. I mean I liked the big moments; triumphs, recitals, games. All important but I love, loved being a part of their daily lives. I never thought about how much I loved it until now. You had such heart, such love for us. It must have been a big loss to you when we moved away. I have never put that together in this way. And now, I feel like apologizing. Some of it was my fault. I didn't try hard enough. I thought we had more time. I hate my own excuses even if they are true. So much came between us was about distance; physically and emotionally. There is no perfect, right? But there is so much in between that could have been better. I could have been better. You know what makes me almost angry is NOW I get it. Why couldn't I have gotten it sooner? Even had a chance to tell you, at least, this.  The loss of what might have been stings almost as much as the loss of what was.

I'll stop for now.
love
Margot