Imperfection

I am agitated by imperfection.

My Linux-based laptop that was so fast when I first got it, has developed a long running script at start-up... because of an attempt to figure out why my built-in camera wasn't working. After taking over administrative privileges (sudo) on my computer, I proceeded to mess it up before discovering that I had disabled the camera months prior by pressing F10. All I had to do to turn it back on was press F10 again.

I thought upgrading to the new distro would undo all the harm I had done. Nope. I think it takes even longer now. I desperately deleted a bunch of important looking things on my computer. Nope.

I am agitated. I feel like a failure.

I suddenly find that I am teaching a class this semester- Weather and Climate. I don't get back to San Jose until the night before class starts. This is a problem for so many reasons. I have to meet with HR before they can process my hiring, and I've got a mandatory meeting the day before I get home. I will be flying back from Hawaii while the meeting happens.

To be fair, I still flinch at a stupid thing I said to my friend over ten years ago.

I wonder if other people do this. Say something stupid, or accidentally rude, then mull over it for 20 years. I mentioned the conversation to my friend a couple years ago, telling her I felt bad about what I said. She doesn't remember the conversation. Why do I?

I am torn between swimming in my wetsuit and swimming without. 99% of the other swimmers in the cove are swimming without. I watch the rise and fall of the water temperatures daily. It rises to 75 and very quickly (in an hour or two) dips to 67. I don't want to be in the water without a wetsuit when it dips to 67.

This morning as I hopped off the last step to the beach, a woman coming out of the water told me I was going to be too warm in my wetsuit. I explained that when I hit the currents of cold water, I tighten up, then remain tense the rest of the swim. It's more psychological than anything. Whatever keeps me from freaking out.

As I pushed off the bottom and started my swim, I realized she was right. The wetsuit was uncomfortably warm. I swam fast to catch up with the group that had gotten in just before me. I got a cramp in my side. I was unhappy with my decision.

I reached the quarter mile buoy and poked my head up at two guys I could hardly see through my foggy goggles (after trying out my new anti-fog spray).

"They went that way!" they said, laughing.

I couldn't see where they were pointing, so I just started out toward the half mile buoy.

At the half mile buoy, I stopped and took my goggles off and said hello to Art. He introduced me to Annika, and Annika. He said Annika swims more my speed. I explained my wetsuit conundrum. It probably doesn't matter. There probably aren't many people who fret about their daily choices to the extent that I do.

We swam around a boat docked off shore, around a far buoy, and back to the cove.

I got on my bike and rode more aggressively than usual. I glanced at the swelling ocean as I rode along the shoreline roads. I vowed to never again live away from the ocean.

As an undergrad, something I said in my gymnastics class came out rude. I didn't correct it. Maybe it took me too long to realize it. I still cringe when I think about that.

And I know my agitation over the computer and the mandatory meeting will go away shortly after my roommate gets home and we talk over a bottle of wine (or two). But I also know that for whatever reason, genetic or learned, I will always cling to whatever version of perfection I harbor at the time, and be irritated with myself when I don't fit that vision.

And when a friend tells me to let things go, or not try so hard, I find myself trying harder. An instinct to show them that I can do it. To rebel against mediocrity by expecting more of myself.

It's a perpetual tight rope walk between expecting too much, and not expecting enough. It's hard not to feel slighted when someone says they are proud of my accomplishments, but then disapprove of the manner in which I achieve them. Too much, too serious, too disciplined. It's hard enough to try to fit my own mold, let alone someone else's.

As I grow older, I become more aware of the way I talk to myself. If I keep trying...maybe one day I'll get it right. Or perfect.