Ah, what then?

My eyes are sleepy and my fingers are itching - I have a thousand things racing through my soul in this moment and the words are sitting heavily beneath my eyelids. I have had an exhausting string of days, stumbling through this process and finding a steady and calming wisdom from the imperfection of it all.

One of my favorite poems is an old one, by Samuel Coleridge. It goes something like this...

What if you slept?
And what if, in your sleeping, you dreamed?
And what if, in your dream, you picked a strange and beautiful flower?
And what if, when you woke, you were holding the flower in your hand?
Ah, what then?

Yes - what then? For several weeks this poem has been lurking in my brain, sliding in between my conscious mind and panicked body. What if I were to live as if all the flowers so delicately plucked in my dreams were real? What if I were to live as if I could, with intention, wake holding the beautiful and strange things for which I so desperately long?

I think that right now my learning is somewhere in this wisdom. I am always so paralyzingly afraid of being discovered as imperfect - what if, in my best effort, I still fail? What if I make the wrong decision? What if someone sees me as anything less than everything? What if I mess up? Hurt someone, even with my most honest and tender intention? What if I can't "do better?"

Fear has, for as long as I can remember, dictated a course for my life. I studied hard, ran for miles in bitter cold weather, and have starved myself in pursuit of some goal or another. There's always something - an art project, a new race, a new way to adequately measure and determine my worth.

But it isn't just that I'm afraid to fail these tests - I'm starting to realize that I'm more afraid of finding out that even when I have given my best effort, it might not be enough. So I've run the gamete, giving my best effort to the point of physical, emotional, and mental agony. In my younger life, this effort was always rewarded with some form of success - I was the fastest, strongest, smallest, smartest...

And my self-image evolved into just that: not simply the "best" at everything, but the one who would die trying before failing.

Here I sit, having built a life on the truth that my self worth is entirely based on my ability to suffer through something difficult that "average" individuals cannot. I can stare at a math textbook for hours, do sit-ups until my stomach muscles hurt so much that I cannot imagine ever laughing again, and starve while the rest of the world bemoans their failed diet plans. And in my adult life, I haven't received the same success and accolades as I did when I was young; I am therefore convinced that I must not be trying hard enough.

Enter the scariest monster eating me alive: fear. If I can't be perfect, then I'll die trying. So logically, to survive in a world where perfection is something that even Mary Poppins can't achieve, I have had to stop trying. If I give all of my attention to something, and still fail, what then? The sun may still rise, but what will it mean? What will be my reason for being here, in this place where the strongest sense of meaning I've found lies in my toiling and struggling to prove myself worthy of something - of anything.

But what if the game changed? What if, instead of letting fear guide me in my decisions and movement, I decided to let love in? What if, instead of needing to ensure success (by taking only those risks in which I can struggle toward perfection), I moved through this life trusting that what I feel, in each moment, is already whole and complete? What if I trusted my body, stopped trying to control the outcomes, and ceased worrying about what will be? What if the game changed and I no longer lived trying desperately to prove that I can be more than I am? What if I picked the flowers that I find rare and beautiful in this instant, trusting that my desire is enough?

And most importantly, what if those flowers, when I woke, were still in my hands?
Ah yes, what then?

The last couple of days, I've been fighting to stop the chatter about needing to do or be anything but the imperfect creature I am. Instead of trying to make myself "better" by proving that I'm worthwhile (by struggling hard and and pushing to desperation), I'm fighting to just take what I am. I'm quieting the worries about being imperfect - as it is already most certainly a certainty - and focusing instead of something else... anything else...

I'm finding that I am waking with flowers in the morning, and that sometimes, I pick sour grass and dandelions. Sometimes the world laughs at the flowers I've chosen, other times I wake up and wonder why I thought the flower in my hand was beautiful in the first place. It's a struggle. But at least the flowers are there.

I'm eating. I'm screwing up. I haven't skipped a meal since Friday, and I haven't purged since Thursday morning. I've eaten desserts, pasta, and pizza. I had a scone an hour after breakfast on Sunday... just because I felt like it. I don't always feel good, but I'm trying to label that feeling and then let it go.

I almost purged this afternoon. I was working, and felt a wave of panic and anxiety wash over me with outrageous intensity. I ate a cookie, and then some of another one... and was ready to finish my job for the day, and finish doing the damage I entertain in order to wash the other damage away.

Midway through cookie #2, I realized that I had a choice. And I also remembered the new rule: if I eat it, I keep it. I thought about Coleridge's poem, and wondered what life would be like if the rules really did change. What if purging isn't an option?

I didn't finish the cookie. I cried instead. And felt nastily imperfect. I went home from work, trying to surrender to the absolute mess surrounding me. And instead of purging, I cleaned my apartment. I didn't feel "better," but I did feel released from a usually unrelenting pressure. I felt human. Not "good," just human.

It's not going to be perfect, I guess. But for tonight, I'm going to pick the flower that I find strange and beautiful - not the one that is the most difficult to find or the most lovely or the most likely to earn me the acknowledgment I so deeply crave. I'm going to try continuing to trust that what I want to choose is right - not because it's the "best," but because it is, in this moment, what I want. And even though I'm not perfect, I am going to trust that my imperfections and failures don't make me "bad" and don't negate my intention to be "good."

And yes, what if that flower is still in my hand tomorrow? Ah, what then? A wonderful wondering, but something to consider when I wake. I will not ravage the field of wildflowers tonight in order to "get it right" - so that I can be proud in the morning. I'm going to try and twist and twirl through the field instead, and let tomorrow bring what it may. Questions, wonderings, mistakes, and all. Instead of focusing on "what then," I'm praying for the grace to trust my heart in answering the question, "what NOW?"