Third Gear

Letting Good Be Good

I had my granddaughters for an overnight this weekend.

They’re four, two and a half, and eight months old, and right now they’re completely committed to Disney dress-up. Not “put on a princess dress for five minutes” committed. Full-time committed. If they’re awake, they’re wearing a gown.

This particular visit featured Pocahontas.

As a result, we listened to Colors of the Wind on a repeating loop.

Now, they’re gone, the house is quiet again, and I still can’t get the song out of my head.

Once the dust settled from their visit, I spent some time following up on a few things regarding my daughter’s health, puttering around in the yard, and thinking about starting an art project. On paper, it was a good day.

Actually, it was more than a good day. It was the kind of day I’ve been wanting more of.

And yet, somewhere in the middle of it, I noticed that familiar tug toward doom and gloom.

Not because anything was wrong.

Just because that’s where my mind sometimes wanders.

I’ve spent years thinking that if I could just become more positive, I’d finally fix whatever causes that tendency.

So, I went for a drive to clear my head, and somewhere between the coffee and the quiet, something occurred to me.

Maybe the problem isn’t that I focus on the negative.

Maybe the problem is that I’ve never been very good at letting good be good.

That thought stopped me.

Because it’s true.

When something is good, my first instinct isn’t to enjoy it. My first instinct is often to improve it, evaluate it, compare it, or prepare for what comes next.

Good feels like it could be better.

A productive day could be more productive.

A successful project could be more successful.

A compliment could be more deserved.

Even as I write that, it sounds exhausting.

I realized I spend a lot of time driving my life in fourth and fifth gear.

Always moving.

Always planning.

Always anticipating.

And maybe what I need isn’t another gear.

Maybe I need to learn how to stay in third gear.

Just cruise for a while.

Enjoy the scenery.

Not every stretch of road requires acceleration.

That realization led me down another path.

I’ve always had a hard time accepting a compliment.

If someone tells me they like something I’ve created, I can immediately tell them where the flaws are.

Take crocheting.

The other day at the salon, crocheting came up in conversation, and I showed my client my first afghan.

My first.

Not my tenth. Not after years of practice.

My first.

It’s a beautiful piece, and every single time someone sees it, they’re impressed.

Meanwhile, I can point out every mistake.

Every place I would do differently.

Every stitch that isn’t quite right.

Then it hit me.

I do this with everything.

My writing.

My art.

My accomplishments.

My life.

Someone else sees the whole finished product.

I see the loose thread.

And somewhere along the way, I learned that acknowledging my strengths required a disclaimer.

Or maybe that’s just another story I’ve been telling myself.

What if I simply allowed myself to recognize excellence when it appears?

Not because I’m conceited.

Not because there’s nothing left to learn.

But because reality deserves recognition.

Then, as if the universe wanted to underline the lesson, I got a text from a client.

First she needed to reschedule.

Then she didn’t.

Then she apologized and concluded with:

“Sorry my brain is broken.”

I laughed out loud.

Because all day I’d been carrying around this idea that I was somehow uniquely overwhelmed.

Turns out a lot of us are carrying something.

Forgetting appointments.

Mixing up days.

Trying to keep track of a hundred moving parts.

Maybe none of us are as put together as we imagine everyone else to be.

And then, because apparently Disney lyrics were determined to participate in my self-discovery, that line drifted through my head again:

How high does the sycamore grow?

If you cut it down, then you’ll never know.

And I wondered if that’s what I’ve been doing.

Cutting things down before they’ve had a chance to grow.

A compliment.

An accomplishment.

A good day.

A beautiful moment.

Maybe even myself.

So today I’m trying something different.

The day was good.

The afghan is beautiful.

The coffee was enjoyable.

The girls were delightful.

The song is still stuck in my head.

And third gear is enough.

At least for today.

The afghan I mentioned in today’s post. My first one–in case you were curious