I watched the entire Super Bowl on Sunday. For me, that is nothing short of a miracle as I have never been a huge fan of watching sports on TV. I absolutely love to attend actual live sporting events, but that’s mainly for the high energy, bright colors and yummy, guilty-pleasurey snacks. So televised football, and the sport I probably know the least about mind you, doesn’t make for a desirable Sunday afternoon. Even if it is the Super Bowl. And to make matters worse, I don’t know many people in the area and didn’t get invited to a party this year, so there goes any chance of yummy snacks.
But there I was. Alone. Watching the Super Bowl. It was somewhat of a personal challenge. I actually want to like football. It seems super fun to look forward to the season, and then to Sundays, and then to screaming and yelling at the TV and actually giving two shits about the score. That said, if I were to have bet on myself on Sunday, I would have given it one quarter max before I let Netflix take over and I was force-feeding myself another episode of Gilmore Girls. (I really want to like that show! Someone tell me how to like that show!) But to my surprise and delight, I quickly got into the game. I actually found myself getting irritated by the fumbles and bad calls, cheering on “my team” and texting the BF with questions when I didn’t understand something. This is kinda fun. Do I like football? Nah. Maybe? Nahhhhh. Yeah? Regardless, I was enjoying myself and it shocked the hell outta me.
Anxiously awaiting the halftime show (insert Chris Martin joke here), I look out the window to my right and witness the most breathtaking sunset over the water. As I take in this almost surreal backdrop, I reflect on the fact that I haven’t always appreciated nature like I do now. I even cry sometimes, and that was something unfamiliar to me—being brought to tears from nature’s beauty alone— prior to my time here in Washington. It got me wondering why all of the sudden I felt this deep emotional connection to it. Why now?
And then it hit me. I just started paying attention. I have always loved nature, but my typical appreciation for it was during brief field trips of afternoon runs or weekend tanning sessions on the beach with plenty of people and “real world” noise clouding my senses. Very rarely did I go deep into nature and spend a significant amount of time just paying attention to the colors, the sounds, the smells. Touching the earth and breathing in its brilliance. I do that here. And I do it often. And it has completely changed my life.
I am not just talking about nature. Take football, for example. I am not going to even pretend to compare my love of nature with my newfound kinda sorta like for football, but it’s amazing how easy it was for me to enjoy it. I just had to devote my (mostly) undivided attention to it, and then it was fun. On many occasions I have heard my life coach say, “Energy flows where attention goes.” (I really hope I got that right.) Basically, an intention can’t manifest itself. Things don’t just magically happen for us; we have to meet the Universe halfway if we really mean business.
If that’s the case, and I believe that it is, why am I often so resistant to put in the time? I already knew the answer. Perfectionism. Like many of my most precious teachers, I too consider myself a recovering perfectionist. I have missed out on so many of life’s wonderful gifts because they/it/I had to be perfect or not at all. I can’t leave my job to go spend time in nature; I need that perfect career. I can’t go out tonight; I look fat. I can’t start a blog; I’m not a writer. I can’t go for a run; it has been too long and I’ll suck. I can’t watch football; I don’t know the rules. And my list goes on and on (and on).
Of course, I still don’t really care about football; it’s just a timely metaphor for all the missed opportunities because I was too busy, too afraid, or incessantly striving for that always-unachievable perfection, which doesn’t even exist in the first place. I got a little lost and forgot about the beauty of taking risks and just doing my best. I now practice (and it sure is an ongoing practice) giving my time and attention to my dreams and intentions without the need to be perfect. And so far, I have yet to be disappointed.
My photo montage below is a ridiculous yet real example of my recovering perfectionism. I rarely take selfies, and my attempt at getting a silhouette of me running yesterday was a complete and total (hilarious) disaster. This is not a joke; I am that compulsive. I couldn’t help but notice the beautiful irony as I wrote this piece and I just had to share. Isn’t she a vision? Maybe perfection does exist.
