I’m knee deep in beginner’s brain these days as I work toward my coaching certification. Here’s the thing: I do most things imperfectly the first time and then adjust and make corrections. Would that I were one of those kids back in school who used the full hour to take the test, go nice and slow and review answers! But no. I went quick, finished quick, turned it in. I can see two paths before me: do it now imperfectly, or put it off til the eleventh hour under a mountain of stress.
I choose the road of imperfection and correction and I have grown up a lot from the days when I would really kick my own ass over my own inability to get it right.
Now I know it’s a choice I make. And I make it.
And then days like these come along when my quick start haste gets assigned a mentor and I get my work recorded and transcribed and sent in for evaluation and I get to share in the joys of my imperfect lack of correct everything and walk in humility as one being shown all the red pen marks.
We call this, “eating a shit sandwich.”
Listen, truth talk. It’s a challenge to ask for help. It’s a challenge to be seen as something other than a proficient master. It’s a challenge to be a beginner and yet, it is the role I am asked to inhabit if I have any chance of getting better, ya know?
I’m feeling the pull. I’m feeling the pain. I’m asking myself over and over again do I even have anything worth giving this world besides a turkey sandwich and folded laundry? Who the hell knows? Only Jesus and he’s not talking (outside his promise of everlasting forgiveness and eternal salvation- he’s as into whether or not you hit the nail on the head or not professionally speaking….).
But the only way through it is through it am I right? Only way to more trust in oneself is the place of self-doubt, leaning in to that canyon of misery on the hero’s quest and still getting at it. The only way to tell a different story is to re-write the characters, overhaul the script, inject a little hope and take another step. And so that’s what I’m doing. Sitting and feeling the feeling that comes with each answer that needs correction and each misstep that needs redirect and each line I keep attempting that I could take one of two ways: proof that I’m working or proof that it’s not. In this situation, with both screaming in my ear, I gotta believe the working will work. No matter how deep the mire.
And it’s the first day of summer over here and rather chilly. The wind picked up, the skies are grey, but don’t make it mean anything for the longest day.