“You may encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated. In fact, it may be necessary to encounter defeats, so you know who you are, what you can rise from, how you can still come out of it.”
Maya Angelou, thank you. I wish I’d known you, your defeats, the places and events from which you rose, and the experiences you had coming out of each defeat. At least I have your inspiring words, and that will suffice.
Knowing who we are requires being attentive and attuned to ourselves, not in a narcissistic manner, but in a way that encourages self-knowledge. Opportunities to do so may present themselves in trivial or serious situations. Disappointments, failures, mistreatment by others, and soul-shattering losses often demand that we get to know ourselves, scrutinize what happened, review the events again and again. The more trivial ones, on the other hand, we usually skate through, or leave behind with barely a second thought.
“Oh well,” and we move on.
Two divorces, and a third marriage have and continue to expose me to aspects of myself that are less than exemplary and sometimes destructive to relationships. For example, in times of vulnerability, I have a tendency to withdraw and isolate myself, thereby alienating my partner. I’ve been a good friend, but have challenged those relationships too. I’ve not always been the best “team player” in family interactions. In these arenas and others, I work hard to know myself, so I can be a better husband, friend, and family member, but continue to discover that I tend to re-create problemsI haven’t figured out, which often feels like defeat.
A recent, somewhat trivial, occurrence reminded me of Maya Angelou’s words while bringing me face to face yet again with “defeat.”
I am not handy at repairs, and I’m smart enough to know that. Why then did I volunteer, yes, volunteer to dig-out carpenter ant holes in three windowsills, fill them with industrial strength putty, and then sand and prime the flat and edged wooden surfaces so they can be painted—a project requiring time, effort and near perfection.
Though my wife didn’t ask me to repair the windowsills, I wanted to please her, a legitimate part of commitment and relationship, and even more importantly I wanted her approval. After many hours of gouging, slopping putty into six-inch trenches, and then attempting to sand down the rock-hard oatmeal-shaped mounds I’d created, I realized this might not be the answer to my spousal problems. Not only that, but now I’d created an even bigger problem: I had to finish the job without the help of Vic.
Who’s Vic, you may ask. I’ll get to that.
My father, a skilled and talented man, applied himself to yard and household repairs on Saturdays, but the results often required the rectifying assistance of Vic, our neighbor. He and Dad were the same height, but Vic was a few years older, and I’m guessing about forty pounds heavier. His portly shape and prominent mustache gave him the appearance of a small town Norman Rockwell figure. Shape and weight, however, weren’t deterrents to him—he scaled ladders, cut down trees, repaired bad pipes and faulty wiring, and did it all with an infectious smile. He was an insurance broker for Travelers who donated many hours to an inner city mission, raised four children, and was adept at fixing everything.
“Vic, I need a hand when you’ve got time,” my father would say in the call. Vic responded, not by phone, but by walking across the street to our house. He did so promptly, much to my father’s appreciation, because my father’s handyman efforts were mostly aimed at trying to please his wife, my mother. When my father was really in trouble, like the time he clung to the roof “frozen by fear” after trying to clean a clogged gutter, my mother called Vic. And Vic raced right over. But no matter what my father did, with or without Vic’s help, he had little success gaining the deep love and connection of the woman he loved.
Vic would have answered my call for help, too. He would have looked at the topographical map the windowsills had become, and said, “Let me have a look at this,” and then proceeded to make my mistakes disappear. But the bigger problem, fixing my relationship, he would have been equally unsuccessful with. As for me, by taking on something for which I have no affinity or skillset, I brought about a sense of “defeat.”
My experience doesn’t measure up to Maya Angelou’s more serious occurrences of loss, alienation, poverty and injustices of all types, but even in its triviality the failed repairs brought the poet’s profound words to mind, and encouraged me to get to know myself—including the limitations I cannot ignore.
Now, it’s time to embrace who I am, get back to doing something constructive fraught with success—laundry.
by 
Another thought provoking story, Roger. That photo is amazing, too!
Roger: striving for perfection in any of its guises is guaranteed failure! Learning to live with myself – strengths and weaknesses, successes and failures, has been a life long endeavor – and probably will be for the rest of my life. However, try to work on who you are – not who you think (or other people think) you should be… I’ll never be able to drive a nail straight – and I’m from a family of builders – but I think, really think, that I know who I am. I even like me some days! Try it! And let somebody else fill in holes with wood putty…
Jenny
I left a comment but then thought some more afterwards. That window sill photo is like a window into the mind, the idea or solution that emerges out of nowhere and in the most unlikely places or at strange times. Sometimes one incredible thought/idea/solution just plops into your mind or it comes after you’ve sought after it for a long time – if it comes at all. But it’s some kind of miracle when it happens. That window picture beckons, doesn’t it? Here, over here, this way, it calls. Thank you for your wonderful story, Roger. It’s good to think.
Roger, thank you for sharing your thoughts and reminding us that we strive throughout our lives “to get it right”. Yes, failures provide fertile ground for new learning and growth. As a lifelong educator, I looked for opportunities to learn and grow through successes and failures. I also hoped to model for students and colleagues the importance of both. Many parents are reluctant to share their failures with their children, thus modeling the resilience needed in life. Children benefit from failure and success.
As I enter another decade, I continue to learn and accept success and failure as worthwhile parts of life. Like winter in Maine, without the cold, we are less likely to savor the sweetness of summer.
The quest for knowing ourselves is what we are here to learn, filled with ups and downs, joys and sorrows, victories and defeats, the necessary yin and yang of this gift of life. I like how you begin with the wisdom and inspiration of Maya and close with the mundane of laundry, while in between sharing yourself and your journey to know yourself so openly and honestly……..coming clean, as you say. Write on, mon ami.
Yep, those pesky home fixes can be a wonderful view finder for the rest of life. I can sympathize as I am not good at carpentry – painting is my limit on the fix it front. Thinking through the things that do not work is a critical skill set at which we all can improve. At least life gives us the occasional “do over” and plenty of chances to work at getting better. Good luck to us all.
Roger, no one is perfect in what they do. There isn’t a baseball player these days that can hardly hit .300 or go through 50 games without an error. I have always enjoyed working with my hands. To me it is much more rewarding than working in an office or business. As a result, I enjoy building or making things. But, I know I am not qualified to mess with electricity or plumbing.
I hope you do not judge me as severely as you judge yourself…
No Kay I reserve the criticism for me, and the judgment as well. Thoughts for another post relating to the inner parent’s voice that,for some of us, is an incessant participant in a dialogue we’d rather not have.