The start of a New Year brings a lot of pressure for perfection. Ive felt it before. When I was a kid, my parents were members of a religious denomination that baptized by total immersion. Sometime in the early 1960s when I was about 11 or 12, I went through the required classes and found myself approved for baptism. On the appointed Sunday morning, I put on a big white cotton robe and a white rubber bathing cap with flaps that hung down almost to my shoulders. The sliding door to the congregation opened, I walked down the steps to the waiting minister, and was immediately struck by the fact that he was wearing waders that I usually associated with fly fishing, and my heavy white robe was taking on water so fast I was sure I would drown if he dropped me. (I had been subjected to a stay alive fully clothed in the water after tipping out of a canoe test during swimming lessons just the previous summer at Girl Scout camp, and I had barely made it through. The terror hadnt left me yet.) I might have bolted, but I looked through the window of the baptismal into the eyes of my beaming parents, and I knew that I would prefer to drown than to upset them by refusing to go through with everything. To my relief, the minister didnt let me slip from his grasp, and I was soon sloshing back into the dressing room to find my clothes, redress, and rejoin the childrens choir. The symbolism of the proceedings had been almost entirely obliterated by my anxiety over the logistics. That is, until one little old lady who also happened to be my piano teacher said, Congratulations, and welcome to being perfect one more time. See how long you can make it last. I knew I couldnt stretch out perfection for very long, and that eventually no matter how hard I tried, I was going to do something that left a big old blot on the newly redeemed me. If I shared my concerns with my parents, I dont remember. But I know I was quiet for the rest of the day -- a fact they probably chalked up to spiritual introspection. The start of a New Year makes me feel like Im walking down marble steps to an old minister in waders who might drop me, too. My intention is always to make this fresh span of months clustered under a number (now 2015) be the salvation of all the crummy ones that came before -- and to savor every moment of precious time. (And I cant quite push away the old adage about the road to hell being paved with good intentions.) However, I do know that it is always my hope that whatever freshly arrived New Year has made its way to us be the proverbial kinder, gentler turn of the calendar page. And I also hope I dont take on too much water to stay afloat as perfection inevitably drifts away from me.
Posted on: Thu, 01 Jan 2015 16:22:32 +0000
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