so i want to have chickens, and eggs. and i want to grow a garden. for those of you who may not be conversant with this combination, it is extremely problematic. chickens are determined marauders and will make short shrift of a garden, given any chance to take advantage of--or to mak--such an opportunity. so, earlier this week, i threw up a little run for the chickens. it wasn't much, but i figured it would keep them in.
boy was i wrong. they were out in less than half a day.
i threw up my arms, waited for our (wonderful) family to leave, and then spent this morning shredding my hands to try to do it right. it worked--for a while. and then . . . i went to run some errands. those little bastards know when my car leaves, i'm not kidding. they would wait to come in the yard until i drove away, then would run in and destroy. and tuesday, they waited until i left to mock my first attempt.
today, though, i thought i had done well. i went inside, ate lunch with the boys, and thought i would take a peek at the birds. and there he was: that damn rooster. i spent maybe twenty minutes trying to catch him, every second increasing my fury at those bloomers pumping up and down, just out of reach . . . so i came in the house, calmly announced that i was going to cook and eat the rooster myself, and then proceeded back out to the chase. hubs and sons joined me soon thereafter. my husband, who is a runner, felt the need to comment on how fast the rooster is . . . after another 10 or 15 minutes, hubs + finn + mama . . . did not catch the rooster, oh no! but managed to make him fly back into the chicken run. so then i shut him in the coop, finally caught him (oh, what bliss!) and then cut his feathers.
or so i thought.
i came back from some errands today, and there he was. that bloody awful bird. his partner in crime, one of my best layers who is meaner than a guard-dog, were half strutting around the yard, half oh-no-let-me-back-in! i caught the hen, clipped her, and dumped her somewhat unceremoniously back into the pen. as for the rooster?
i waited until i went out to feed, thinking maybe he would 1) be more likely to go back in to roost or 2) maybe even go in himself.
oh no.
i spent way, way too long trying to catch him. way too long. and getting angrier and angrier with every lap around the coop, and then around the house. after he flew up 6 or 7 feet to try to get into the other coop (which had an open door, by the way). when i finally called it quits (at least he didn't crow this time), i was near tears.
because there it is again: the failure.
it is good, of course, to have high standards, and you can read about the genuine dangers of perfectionism in many places. i won't lecture. but it is one of my biggest crosses, and one that i know is not unique. it is the mantra that i constantly have to drown out, the lie it is easiest for me to believe, the pattern that i see most repeated in my life:
look at you, you pathetic little failure.
i am, at best, a mediocre musician.
sure i got my MA . . . because i didn't make it into the PhD program.
i wasn't able to be a professional rider.
let's not talk about failed friendships, attempted friendships, potential friendships, relationships . . .
heck, i can't even fence in chickens.
naturally the list goes on and on . . . and on. maybe you have your own.
in my head i know this isn't true. a lot of people think i am great; i have some wonderful, amazing friends who have stuck by me through some very tough years.
i worked really, *really* hard just to be able to ride, even though i couldn't do all the fancy (expensive!) stuff.
my horse was a hot mess when i got her. now she is safe for my babies.
i married an amazing man, and i live on a 16 acre farm in a 150 year old farm house.
i swore i would never go to grad school, never ever ever ever. and i did. and i finished a graduate degree. maybe, maybe i can even try to go back.
when i am faced with this situation, if i am honest then i have to admit two things: i "failed" because of my pride and perfectionism, or, i gave up before i could fail, because it wasn't worth it to me anymore.
i want to be perfect. at everything. all the time.
AND
i want to be admired for being a success.
(this post is getting insanely long, so i'll try to wind up)
well, that's absurd. what i need to do, instead of trying to be a local god:
to be content with being the little flower that is never seen, but blooms only for God
to embrace being the lowest
to accept that other people are not going to value my friendship or be equally interested in being friends, and love them anyway
to be *my* best, not *the* best
to do what i love, regardless of others' opinions (isn't it funny how snide comments made aeons ago can suddenly re:appear?)
to give all i have to those i love, because i know they love me, and they deserve it. as for the rest?
to quote Psalty: all i have to do is do my best/He'll do the rest. because His grace *is* sufficient.
to be able to laugh at a rooster, and at myself for allowing a bird to give me a feeling of defeat
but i'm still going to eat him.
4 comments:
I was chuckling all through the first half of this. As for the second . . . yes, hard to focus on "my best," not "the best." But remember, with your chickens and gardening and fence building, etc.: you are doing something that most of us don't even try because it's So Damn Hard. So you've set a high bar at the outset.
Oh, and Psalty! Psalty! Haven't thought about him in decades.
thanks, laura! unfortunately, setting high bars has never stopped me from thoroughly beating up myself when i crash into them.
aint psalty great?!
Really appreciated this post, Mims! I would like to make some pithy and insightful comment here about self-knowledge (a la Flannery O'Connor), but my brain simply refuses to be clever. So just know that I'm thinking the unsaid complement with all my might!
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