|Photo by Richard Reikowski|
We search for those moments and places in our lives that we can categorize as perfect. We experience the perfect weather, in the picture frame of the perfect day, and we sigh as we take it in. One may talk about that experience afterwards, and point to that very moment as perfect.
What if that perfect day was a winter storm blanketing the ground, and no one could get into work? The only thing to be done is to start a fire, make some coffee, pick out a book to read, and get under a blanket. That has always been my perfect day, but I would venture to guess that within the first paragraph, most of those reading this were picturing warm temperatures, and blue skies. Once winter storm was read, one would have to be out of their mind to see that as a perfect day. Well, maybe not out of my mind, but maybe out of a mind set.
Perfect is choice in how to experience life, and not a result of life choices (my choices are at times less than perfect). It is a choice of patience, and not of disappointment because ones expectations were not met. When we open our eyes to potential, a blue sky, or cold temperatures stops stating an argument of perfection, and starts a dialogue painted on a new canvas. Those differences move toward a deeper richer experience of perfection. One may see a place as perfect, but when two see it as perfect, and still see it in their own way, then that perfect moves into joyfully-perfect.
My Mother, in her 70’s, has become more forgetful. I found myself with the mind set that she just stopped paying attention. If she paid attention and focused she would remember better. That expectation frustrated her, and frustrated me. The day that she asked me what I wanted to drink for dinner three times in ten minutes, and then forgot to put it out, was a day that I changed my mind set. Her forgetfulness was not a lack of focus, but an early onstage of dementia…my perfect point of view became callused and an embarrassment.
I needed to make the choice in changing my mind set that this has happened as a natural process of her aging, and she hopefully would find the same choice. What happend was that our perfect became a process, and stopped being a destination. Each new day presented new challenges, and we became ok with that because we both saw ourselves in process moving along the pathway towards better. Her memory isn’t going to get better, but the way I adjust to her perfect day can always improve.
I constantly talk with our audiologist about working with our patients in this way. They are dedicated to an understanding that moving towards better hearing is a continual process, and that hearing better isn’t a destination, but constant adjustments. There are physical changes and technology improvements. Their patience, and the education of their patients to this fact will create an atmosphere of trust and potential. That open mind set will help all involved find and see that perfect place.