Mindfulness and Perfectionism

Someday I will be perfect. Everything will be fixed. I will have no reason to worry about my failures because I won’t have any. I won’t have to worry about anyone’s judgment. I will be perfect, and so will my life.

Probably, most people wouldn’t admit to believing the above, at least not in such blatant form, but when I ask myself if I’m happy with myself exactly as I am, I can always think of many things that need to be improved before I can say yes, which means I’m saying no.

This means that I can’t fully appreciate the present moment. Mindfulness means acceptance. More than that, it means appreciation for oneself and for one’s circumstances and surroundings—for everything that is in one’s awareness in the present moment.

This became especially clear to me when I was reading The Peaceable Kingdom, by Jan de Hartog, a novel about the founding of the Friends as a religion and its development in the U.S. At one point, Margaret Fell, who was in many ways the organizing force behind the Quaker movement, had intense doubt about her motives. Finally, she said, “God, You’ll have to accept me just as I am.”

My initial response was “Yes!” Upon reflection, I thought that it isn’t anyone outside of me who has to accept me just as I am. I’m the one who needs to unconditionally accept myself.

Where, I wondered, did that leave perfection? I explored this word from a different angle. In the past, I’d always seen it as a static, frozen condition. What if perfection, too, could reflect the present moment? What if it could be a dynamic state, as in: “I can only be who I am. I accept this reality in the here and now. I am perfect just as I am.”

I have noticed that when I’m pursuing a line of thought that’s true for me, the universe drops helpful psychic bread crumbs along the trail. I’m sure that’s why a few days later, I discovered this statement by the psychologist, Carl Rogers:

“The curious paradox is that when I accept myself as I am, then I change. What I am is good enough if only I would be it openly.”

We don’t wait until we’re good enough to earn self-acceptance; when we accept ourselves, we are always good enough.

The Mindful Smile(with thanks to Thich Nhat Hanh)

“Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy.”

Last week, I needed to smile, and I remembered that Thich Nhat Hanh frequently writes about the importance of smiling. I’ve collected some of my favorite quotations for this blog post.

The following explains why smiling is so powerful.

“When you don’t have joy and you smile, that is a real practice. You know there are something like 300 muscles, small and big on your face. Every time we get very angry or worried, all these muscles are very tight. When people look at you with that tension on your face, they don’t see you like a flower. People are afraid of you when all the muscles on your face are tense like that. You look more like a bomb than a flower.

But if you know how to smile, in just one second, all these muscles are relaxed and your face looks like a flower again. It’s wonderful…”

I’ve learned that smiling, even (or maybe especially) when I don’t feel like it, can indeed be the source of joy—or at least of a major mood shift.

Smiling means that we are ourselves, that we are not drowned into forgetfulness.

To smile restores my attention to the present moment. When I’m unsmiling and frantic, gloomy, or angry, I’m not usually experiencing the fullness of the present moment. I may be brooding over a past insult or rejection. I may be worrying about something in the future.

Suffering is not enough. Life is both dreadful and wonderful...How can I smile when I am filled with so much sorrow? It is natural—you need to smile to your sorrow because you are more than your sorrow.

To shift our focus to smiling helps us to focus on the present moment. A smile opens the door to appreciation. With a smile, we may go outside and enjoy the cloud-swept sky or the tender buds that will soon become leaves. We may pause to think of the people in our lives whom we love and value. We may smile to our sorrows and fears as we would to a small child who needs our love and comfort.

Thich Nhat Hanh offers this short meditation:

Breathing in, I calm body and mind.
Breathing out, I smile.
Dwelling in the present moment,
I know this is the only moment.

Thanks for reading this. I smile to you.

Here's something else to make you smile, "Smile," sung by Nat King Cole.

The Mindful Purr

Sometimes mindfulness is simply listening to your inner knowing.

In January 2016, I adopted a black feral kitten. Roo (short for Roisin, meaning “Rose,” and pronounced “Roo-sheen”) was five months old. She’d been feral until she’d been four months old.

This made her at best a difficult kitten to socialize. Feral kittens get socialized to learn what is safe and what isn’t during the their early months. Any unfamiliar experience can activate their desire to find safety. After two months of age, feral kittens are considered much more difficult to socialize. Many rescue organizations recommend that feral kittens four months or older be trapped, spayed or neutered, and released.

I was looking for a companion for my three-year-old black cat, Pangur, and I visited the web site of the shelter where Roo was living. I wanted a different colored cat, like a tabby or gray tuxedo. I wanted an older, less adoptable cat. One day, though, I noticed that Roo had been there for a month. Something switched on inside me, and I said aloud, “That’s it. I’m adopting her.”

I looked at the clock. The shelter opened in ten minutes. I got into my car with a cat carrier and drove there. All the way there, I argued with myself. What happened to the tabby, to the older cat? This was surely a very feral kitten. Was I acting impulsively? I kept driving, even though I felt like a lunatic.

I got there and visited with the kitten, who mostly hid from me. I decided that I had to hear one purr, even if it was tiny. I needed some confirmation of my intuition. After half-an-hour, I was ready to give up when I heard it, an infinitesimal vibration in her throat. “Do it!” intuition shouted, and I was mindful enough to listen.

Now, eight weeks later, I’m so glad I did. It’s been a process. She still runs away from me when she’s in active mode (since she’s a kitten, that’s often), but at night she sleeps next to me, and when she’s drowsy, she loves to be petted. She even lets me rub her belly, which to many is the ultimate sign of trust.

The best part of the story, though, is that my three-year-old cat, Pangur (another black cat) and Roo are inseparable. They play together, groom each other, and sleep together.

And when I look at this beautiful kitten, I remember how clearly intuition spoke to me and how mindfully I listened. Every time I see her, Roo serves as a reminder that the voice inside will never fail me.

Note: If you would like to adopt a feral kitten, here are some suggestions from Alley Cat Allies.

Mindfulness and Silence

If there is one thing people know about the Society of Friends, it is that in many meetings people sit in silence that is occasionally interspersed with people speaking.

After a long absence, I’ve been attending a Friends’ Meeting since July 2015. Someone told that Friends are encouraged to speak only when what they would say will improve on the silence. I contemplated this recently during a Meeting.

Whether I am sitting in Buddhist meditation, a meditation of Reiki practitioners, or Friends worship, I find the energy of the group very rich and conducive to my own meditation. It would take a lot to improve on it.

As I considered that, someone got up and delivered what I judged—and I use the word deliberately—a low-quality, long, and very boring message. Frankly, I was annoyed, and I decided to look at my annoyance. What I discovered surprised me.

I realized that I am constantly giving myself long and low-quality messages thick with repetitive anxiety, that I can remind myself that I have to do something countless times, and that my ego gives me other messages that do not improve on silence.

This gave me a powerful incentive to be mindful of what I’m thinking. That doesn’t mean that I will suppress. That’s what I have been doing. Instead, I intend to simply be aware of it, to allow it but not to feed it.

That resolution gives me contentment. I thank the boring Friend. Once I mindfully contemplated my reaction to his message, it turned out to have far greater value than I had imagined.