I am not perfect, but I am wonderful. That’s my new mantra.
I say it a lot. It makes me feel good. I said it yesterday after I sent a finished press release back to a client with a big glaring spelling mistake right in the title. I just flat out missed it. My eyes must have danced right over it. I think of Miss Shaw (RIP) of Myers Elementary School and imagine her pink cheeks turning ever pinker at my unforgivable carelessness.
I am not perfect, but I am wonderful.
I said it shortly after hanging up with the Comcast service rep, who I had lectured—though not raised my voice—on why I did not like the company she worked for. “No,” I told her, “not one more service, not one more dime.” Blah, blah, blah. I could feel the shame creep up my neck even as I barreled forward, unable to stop myself. Grandiose self-righteousness in action. What was I thinking? As if she’s not oppressed by Comcast too.
I am not perfect, but I am wonderful.
And then there’s the issue of my daughter’s hair. I like it one way, she another. We’ve disagreed about it for years. I have sworn (too many times to count) not to utter a word about it. And after all, it’s her hair and really, why do I care? The important point here is that I know this discussion cannot end well. But, sometimes, without warning, the thought forms; the tongue lines up; and the sounds glide effortlessly out of my mouth—syllables shaping the words of the very last thing I intended to say.
I am not perfect, but I am wonderful.
No need to go on. They are small transgressions to be sure. Regardless, I can do a number on myself for any one of them.
Just think of the therapeutic potential here. The power of this little phrase to heal. Want to let yourself off the hook? This is the unhooker. Want to get off your own back? Try this for heavy lifting. Hammering of self really can be eliminated; well okay, at least the racket can be kept to a minimum.
For the guy I cursed on I 95.
For the job that took too long to do.
For the cake I didn’t want to eat.
For the “couple” of glasses of wine
For the friend I forgot to call
For the note I never sent
For the dumb-ass question I had to ask
For the short, quite curt reply
For the ego, the envy, the self-deceit
For the fits, the fears, the “I can’ts”
And for all the rest of my human being-ness and its blunders: I am not perfect, but I am wonderful.
Sixties Chick 