It’s okay to be wonky

Since being back in the real world, I’ve had to start making some big decisions. I’ve been feeling more lost in life right now than ever before. Please though, keep reading. This isn’t going to be a big woe-is-me entry. It’s going to be more about the absurdity of my own mind. This memory often pops into my head when I’m feeling like putting myself down or when I’m feeling overly emotional.

I’m going to take you back about two years to my days of counseling. I was receiving the counseling, not giving it… just to be clear. We (my counselor and I) often talked about my desire for safety and perfection, though I would always politely disagree that no, I didn’t want perfection… I just didn’t want failure. I know what you’re going to say. Perfection and not failing are the same thing. And you’re right. But perfection isn’t something I’ve ever consciously strove for. Honestly. I just really hate failing. My thoughts are never, “Oh, gosh, I wish I was perfect.” They are more along the lines of, “ I really hate screwing up and disappointing people so I’m going to try my hardest to do this right.” They’re totally different thoughts and I don’t like the word perfect. I know it’s not possible to be perfect but shouldn’t it be possible to not fail? Anyway, my counselor was very good at making things relatable to help drive points home and to encourage me to listen. One day she said, “Nothing can be perfect. Nature isn’t even perfect, but it’s still beautiful and functioning. You wouldn’t think less of the tree that is growing crooked or a tree that has a knot in its trunk would you? It’s not a failure of a tree.” I nodded along as I always did, knowing she was right but still not accepting failure into my life.

After my appointment ended, I went home, picked up Emmy, and headed to Penrose trail in Story as I usually did. Hiking is what I called my post-therapy therapy. It was my time to be away from humans and responsibilities. This was one of the first times I thought about my counseling session for a significant amount of time afterwards, and you want to know why? Because she made it relatable, dang it. Every other tree I saw on my hike was broken, knotty, crooked, or just overall having a hard time existing. I realized I was one of those trees. The imperfect ones had always been my favorite and that must be because I myself am I struggling tree. I started to take my connection to the trees a little too far. By the end of my hike I had started talking to them. I’d say something like, “Hey, man, don’t worry. I get a kink in my neck sometimes, too.” Or maybe something like, “You’ve got galls? I’ve got zits. We’re one in the same.” I even took it as far as giving them high fives and knucks as I walked by. I belonged with the imperfectness of nature and was feeling pretty good about myself.

A few days later though, I realized maybe I’d taken it a little too far and had bonded too deeply with the outcasts of nature. I was restocking the tomato plants at work when I heard some customers debating over which tomato plant they wanted to buy. They talked about size and healthiness of each plant, but then made a comment that struck me deep, as if they knew my inner turmoil and wanted to break me. One of them said, “Well now I don’t think we want this one. It’s not growing very straight.” I immediately stopped what I was doing. My chest began to close and tears welled in my eyes. Were they really going to reject that tomato plant that had worked just as hard as the others and had every ability to produce fruit simply because it’s stem was crooked? Or… were they actually rejecting me? I was just as imperfect as that tomato plant but also just as capable of success. I wanted to say to them, “You don’t like the crooked stem? Fine. Plant him deep. Sink him into the ground. He’ll be great and he’ll produce the most beautiful fruit! You’ll just be hiding what makes him an individual…what makes him special!!” Instead of screaming this response, though, I walked away with a quivering chin and tear-blurred vision. I was being irrational. I knew that. They weren’t attacking me or that tomato plant. They were simply looking for perfection, but the joke is on them because perfection doesn’t exist. That’s what my counselor was trying to tell me.

These days, I like to tell myself,  “Hey, Erin, it’s okay to be a little wonky.” Then I think of that tomato plant and smile.