Where great work really begins.

A few weeks ago, I came across a question in one of my journals that I couldn’t answer. It’s a 5-year journal that I bought during the holidays last year. One question a day for 365 days, with room for 5 years worth of answers. It’s a great little book. An impulse buy at TJ Maxx that always gives me something to mull over in the morning. 

Every once in a while, a question comes up that I just can’t answer. On July 2, the question of the day read, “How can you do your best work?”

Now, at face value, that seems like it should be pretty easy to answer. I mean, looking back, I could have answered, “be diligent, work hard, set a goal, make a plan.” But none of those came to mind that day. It was one of those “I got nothin’“ kind of moments. Huh. I knew there was a reason, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. So, I closed the book and decided to circle back to it another day. 

A few weeks later, the words unexpectedly came: 

“What is my best work? I can only do what I can do at this moment. Sometimes the best work is being willing to fail.”

Well, that one hit the nail on the head for this recovering perfectionist. Raised with the mantra of “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right,” I’ve spent much of my life working hard to avoid missing a mark that’s, well, unattainable. 

Now, there is nothing wrong with seeking excellence. Of course, I want to do good work. Great work. Excellent work. Don’t most of us at some level? And I’m grateful that I’ve had examples in my life that have demonstrated these qualities. But how can I get to that place of excellence if I’m not willing to fall short of it? And who’s to say that falling short of it isn’t the best work for where I am today?

How can I get to that place of excellence if I’m not willing to fall short of it?

All my efforts to avoid failing were actually keeping me from doing my best. Dang. I didn’t see that coming.

The error in my thinking was believing that BEST = PERFECTION. But my best work today might be defined by my willingness to stick my neck out and do it wrong. Or by being willing to learn the lessons that come from reaching beyond my comfort zone and – gasp! – failing.

Ooooh. This is uncomfortable territory. But you know what? It is actually possible to get more comfortable with the discomfort. Who knew? Who knew?? (To some, this may be a no-brainer, but hey, we’re all learning according to our own timetable. I’m okay with that.)

So, thanks for the awareness, Lord. Thanks for always teaching me something new. For all the ways I keep on growing. 

May I never, ever stop. 

❤️ Cath