Never Quite Good Enough

Tracy and I were sitting in one of our favorite coffee shops the other day when I had to run out to the van for something. When I came back in, she was grinning from ear-to-ear and had a slight case of the giggles. Apparently, as I went out the door two women had come into the coffee shop from the other entrance and had stopped right by our table to admire “the view”.

“Look at that guy with the long hair,” one said to the other.

“Oh wow…” the other replied. And then they stood and watched me bend over into the van until their coffees were ready.

Tracy asked me if I liked it when things like that happened. Now, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like that. It’s very heady to find out you’re being “drooled” over by complete strangers. But at the same time, I often wonder what the fuss is about. I mean, I see myself in the mirror every day and most of the time, I’m not happy with what I see.

With the heavy physical demands of framing a house and the muscular development required for wrestling and for modeling, it’s nearly become a full-time job just staying in shape. The calories I use up in a day are staggering. I probably eat nearly 4,000 calories a day and I’m still losing body fat. And it seems that each time I start to make progress on one body part that’s lagging, three others surface that I’m just as unhappy with.

Wrestling’s the same way. Every time I watch one of my matches, although I’m reasonably happy with the match, I can pick out at least a dozen things that don’t look good enough or crisp enough or just plain weren’t as I imagine they should look.

I suppose that’s a good thing, though. Never being satisfied. Always feeling like there’s a need for improvement. Gives me something to strive for; something to work on. I don’t know what I’d do if I suddenly looked up and everything was perfection. Probably pack it in. Although, there are times when I’d really, really like it if things were a lot closer to perfection that they seem to be, I think I prefer being never quite good enough. I like the challenge.

It doesn't matter...

A few weeks ago, we were all cleaning up after supper one night. Being the cook, I got to just sit and watch all of this unfold. Tracy was making the kids’ school lunches along with Matthew. Kate was washing dishes and Terry was drying. All three kids are teenagers complete with raging hormones.

Terry and Kate were arguing about something. I can’t for the life of me remember what and, in fact, what they were arguing about isn’t important for the purposes of this little tale. What’s important is the dynamic of their relationship. Terry’s almost three years older than Kate. The big brother. Who’s always right. So don’t bother arguing with him.

Kate, on the other hand, is the little sister that’s been picked on when her parents weren’t looking. She knows there’s no arguing with her big brother. But she does anyway. And sometimes, I think so she can feel like she’s getting one over on him, rather than shout back at him, she’ll mutter her comeback half-under her breath. When she thinks he can’t hear her.

And that’s what she did on this particular night.

Terry: “What?”

Kate: “Nothing.”

Terry: “What’d you say?”

Kate: “Nothing.”

Terry: “I heard you say something. What was it?”

Kate: “It doesn’t matter.”

Terry (now getting mad): “WHAT DID YOU SAY?”

Kate (yelling back): “TERRY, IT DOESN’T MATTER.”

Terry: “Fine. If it doesn’t matter, then tell me what you said.”

Kate (splashing dish water and throwing her hands up in the air as she whirls around to face him): “TERRY, WHEN I SAY IT DOESN’T MATTER, IT DOESN’T MATTER!!”

At this point, after quietly watching and listening to this exchange, both Matthew and Tracy started to laugh.

Both Kate and Terry glared at the two of them and, almost simulataneously said, “What are you two laughing at?”

Matthew and Tracy looked at each other, looked at Kate and Terry and both said…

“It doesn’t matter.”