43 – February 12
“Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; begin it well and serenely and with too high a spirit to be cumbered with your old nonsense.”—Ralph Waldo Emerson
Saint Chellie lives in my mind. She is perfect. She never makes mistakes, never says the wrong thing, never makes anyone angry. Never gets angry herself!
Saint Chellie loves everyone and everyone loves her back. She is never anxious or afraid. People admire her, but she modestly deflects adulation and reflects it back to its originators. She knows the glory is to the message, not to the messenger. She is ideal.
If I focus too much on her, Saint Chellie makes me feel bad about myself. I can never measure up to her perfection. No matter how good I am, I am never good enough because I can always imagine her being better, doing better, living better.
Saint Chellie makes me crazy.
I am not a saint. I am a person. I am a good person, and I love and care for those around me. I do the best I can to spread joy and cheer in the world, take care of my responsibilities, and be honest, faithful and true to myself and others. If I fail today, I will try to do better tomorrow. No mistake is worthless if I learn something from it. But I hold myself harmless from perfection. I accept myself unconditionally just the way I am.
Saint Chellie is not real. I am real.
And in spite of all my foibles, fancies, failures; I am good enough.
“I am enough. I am more than enough. And I accept myself unconditionally just the way I am.”
Ah, when I read this story, I remember all the times I felt badly about myself and struggled so to measure up to the graven image I had of the perfect ideal. But who can ever look good when held up against perfection? Maybe that’s another, more obscure meaning behind the Biblical admonition “thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image”.
Now, this meditation seems to me like the musings of a Tuna-in-recovery, as I am fond of calling myself. I look back with some pity on the self-that-was who needed this affirmation because I really didn’t think I was enough.
Someone said, “The New Age disease is judging yourself for judging yourself.” LOL!
I am better now. No, not a better person, just more recovered from the shame of not being a better person, if you take my meaning. At present, I’m quite pleased with myself for the most part.
This is one of the fringe benefits of growing older. If you survive your youth, you find yourself morphing into your Strong and Wise place. And you get pretty proud of having arrived there, too. Self-satisfied and asking for the world to deliver goodies.
I call it my Arrogant Bitch Phase of Life. I like it really fine.