Perfection is Not Possible

I might say that I'm not the type of person that likes routines, but I also couldn't say that I like not having a plan on a daily basis. I've been experimenting with a lot of systems for implementing new habits in my life, for about four years now. 

It all started back then when I was working on my undergrad thesis until a year after I graduated. I had all the time in the world to do whatever I wanted to do, including doing my hobby. Writing has always been my hobby since childhood, and I've always known that I want to be a writer. In my last year of college, and months after that, when I spend most of my time writing, I had these unbelievable goals: become a full-time writer; publish a book in 2 years; and write 50,000 words in a month.

And as you guess, I failed every single of my goal. I didn't always write 2,000 words a day, thus, publishing a book in 2 years was out of the question. The worst of all was that I faced failure every single day. Failing of achieving goals that I myself made up. Months of being in a writing slump, not being able to write anything, crying knowing that I want to be a writer so bad yet I have so little word count, making me set aside my writing goals, and moved to another I-think-I-would-fail goal: pursue masters abroad; and get a scholarship.

And as you've predicted, I didn't achieve any of them. What's funny is, not because I failed after I actually tried, but because I didn't even dare to try them, just because of this stupid assumption: 

"I will fail anyway why bother trying." 

Looking back from now to that day, I realize how silly I was. How afraid I was just to try out something I know I've been dreaming of since I was born (becoming a writer), and of achieving something I know I genuinely wanted to (studying abroad). Two big dreams, that never, even for a day, that I forget how much I want them. 

Years later, fast forward to today, despite the fact that my fear of failure was not as crippling as it used to be, I still find it difficult to form a habit that sticks, especially when it comes to big tasks like writing a book and doing my translating jobs. I can say I can barely enjoy the process. 

However, here's the good news. For the past couple of months to a year, I've built two small habits: tracking expense; and journaling.

Why do they stick? Because they're easy, tiny, and literally require only 60 seconds of my 24-hour. I even skip one to three days and still managed to come back to them, maintain them for the whole month, and before I realized it, they become a habit that makes me feel something's missing when they're gone. 

Referencing that success, I took this book on habit building, which I bet everyone knows, Atomic Habits by James Clear, read the entire pages, highlighted every important note, and ingrained the most powerful mindset-shift to my perfectionist self, that:

"perfection is not possible.. The problem is not slipping up; the problem is thinking that if you can't do something perfectly, then you shouldn't do it at all." 

Out of lots of great tips on habits in that book, that very sentence rings the loudest bell to me. The next thing I know was I created this handwritten August calendar, and tell myself:

"for the whole month, I am going try to stick with habits that I've been doing on-and-off for the last couple of years. I have 5 colors for 5 habits. For every habit I do that day, even when I do it for only 10 seconds, I'll give myself a reward: I'll mark that day with one color. And by the end of the day, if I managed to do all the habits, I'll get a day full of colors."

Today, August 30, 30 days sharp after I created that system, I see myself sticking with these habits:

exercise: 18 days;

meditate: 15 days;

learn French: 22 days;

read: 25 days. 

If there's anything that I learn from my habit-building journey, it is not that the system doesn't work for me, or the habits are too hard to do, or that I'm not rewarding myself enough after completing each habit, it is more of finding the bell that rings the most. In my case, the bell is my perfectionism, and all it takes to ring that bell is that one sentence from that book, that I summarize:

"you are the person you are, not because of things you don't do in a day or two, but because of things you mostly do on most days."  

 

Romantic Love in Little Women

It's been ages since I put down a book just to cover my face with a pillow and shout over romantic scenes between fictional characters.

It happened during the last a hundred pages of this book.

Beside the love to family and friends, this book has successfully drawn me into every emotion in conflicts between the sisters and their love interests.

Meg, the oldest, was the first to get married. When John proposed her, I was moved by his saying, that love is something one can learn about instead of a thing that one could only accidentally fall into.

"I'll wait, and in the meantime, you could be learning to like me. Would it be a very hard lesson, dear?"
"Not if I chose to learn it, but.."
"Please choose to learn, Meg. I love to teach, and this is easier than German," broke in John, getting possession of the other hand, so that she had no way of hiding her face as he bent to look into it.   

Jo, the second oldest, was proposed by her best friend, Laurie. Though his confession is an immature one, I can truly sympathize for his longing for Jo's love and how his poor heart was broken into pieces when Jo, very maturely, told him that she could only love him as a friend.

".. I only loved you all the more, and I worked hard to please you, and I gave up billiards and everything you didn't like, and waited and never complained, for I hoped you'd love me, though I'm not half good enough.. (page 558)."

"I shall always be fond of you, very fond indeed, as a friend, but I'll never marry you, and the sooner you believe it the better for both of us--so now! (page 563)"

By the very end of the chapter, Jo had become even more of a lady who speaks so wisely and  respectfully, that when her lover asked her to wait for the right time for them to marry, she uttered,

"Yes, I know I can, for we love one another, and that makes all the rest easy to bear. I have my duty, also, and my work. I couldn't enjoy myself if I neglected them even for you, so there's no need of hurry of impatience (page 737)."

It is so refreshing to find a work of fiction which young girls as  the main characters are evolving into better people by their own struggles, learning to embrace their flaws and cherish their self-love, before stumbling upon love to their lovers.

As a reader, it is important for me to connect their stories with mine. Though I don't know much about this type of love, I did experience it a few times. They were shallow yet exciting. Like the one in forth grade, the one in tenth grade, the one in first years of college and the one in final years of college.

I no longer believe in shallow and exciting stuffs, for they might vanish in a blink of an eye. Like what this book has told me, that it takes time, learning, patience and pain as an exchange for something as good as love. 

Fucks Told by "The Subtle Art of Not Giving A Fuck"

Here are some fucks told by this book, that is written in an ordinary way by Mark Manson, for ordinary people out there, who need to swear at their fucking ordinary lives. 

This is those ordinary fucks: 

1. if everyone were extraordinary, then by definition no one would be extraordinary is missed by most people;
2. while there is something to be said for "staying on the sunny side of life," the truth is, sometimes life sucks, and the healthiest thing you can do is admit it; 
3. we don't go from "wrong" to "right." Rather, we go from wrong to slightly less wrong;
4. pleasure is the most superficial form of life satisfaction and therefore the easiest to obtain and the easiest to lose;
5. commitment gives you freedom because you're no longer distracted by the unimportant and frivolous; 
6. but depth is where the gold is buried. That's true in relationships, in a career, in building a great lifestyle, in everything;
7. the older you get, the more experienced you get, the less significantly each new experience affects you;
8. and some other fucks, that I don't give a fuck about.

Pretty ordinary, huh? 

I don't recommend you to read this book if you've heard some (or all) of those fucks before. But if you've never heard any of those fucks, or if you've heard them but still want to read it, like I do, maybe this book is for you.

The main point about this book is that, unlike it's tittle, there's no way to not give a fuck, because not giving a fuck, is still a fuck given anyway. 

Little Women Has Reminded Me of Those Who Matter

As soon as I opened this book, Little Women by Louisa May Alcott, the magic happens. It tells me beautiful phrases I've never read before, it introduces me characters whom I laughed and shed tears with, it conveys messages in a way that warms my little heart.

I should disclaim that I'm not a fan of English classic books. I've read some of them, though, in past few years, but for some reasons, I just couldn't find myself enjoying any of them. Not until today.

I thought it was just something about this book that makes me so into it. But as I read along, this book told me that it was more than just about the beauty of 19th-century-English expressions or the lovely young female characters who wear dresses in daily basis. It reveals something within me that I wasn't even aware of it myself. That, first, I've evolved as a reader. And second, that I miss home.

I miss the hug my mother gives whenever we saw each other in the arrival gate of the airport, I miss the loud welcoming voices of my little rebellious cousins whenever I get into the car to our way home, I miss being bored and lazy all day long with my sister in the newly-air-conditioned room, I miss the silence my grandfather keeps whenever he washes and cuts some fish for dinner, and of course, I miss my father.

For every of his wrinkles and white hair, for every strength he keeps within, as he wishes, someday, to see me become a writer and marry a man who loves reading. Though he's not with me at home, he's always been a home to me wherever he is. 

"Make this home happy, so that you may be fit for homes of your own, if they are offered you, and contented here if they are not. One thing to remember, my girls. Mother is always ready to be your confidant, Father to be your friend, and both of us hope and trust our daughters, whether married or single, will be the pride and comfort of our lives (page 150)." 

This book follows four siblings who evolves as better sisters, daughters and friends as the story goes. I read aloud some paragraphs, as I get more immersed by the story. I was one of the players in a game they play, talked to strangers with the same insecurity as they feel, or simply was in their house, as if I was the fifth sibling.

There was this chapter which follows Jo, the second eldest, who was mad at Amy, the youngest, but at last, she gave the little sister her sincere forgiveness. This resonates with me as it reminded me of the past, that I disliked my sister and wished for bad things for her, that I was such a little thing full of hatred, that I was no way close to be forgiving nor brave enough to admit my fault. I couldn't help but cry as I flip through the pages.

"I let the sun go down on my anger. I wouldn't forgive her, and today, if it hadn't been for Laurie, it might have been too late! How could I be so wicked?" softly stroking the wet hair scattered on the pillow.

As if she heard, Amy opened her eyes and held out her arms, with a smile that went straight to Jo's heart. Neither said by word, they hugged one another close, in spite of the blankets, and everything was forgiven and forgotten in one hearty kiss (page 126). 

There are just so many pure little things written carefully and genuinely in this book, including the love of a grandfather to his granddaughter. I've never been so close to my own grandfather. He's a man of few words. He works despite of his age, he amuses himself by watching news on television, he cooks his own food that sometimes he burns the kitchen. In his silence, during most of the nights when I'm home, he texts my mother to bring me and my sister, to come over for dinner in his house.

"Malam ke rumah. Ada haruan. Bawai kekanakan," he texted.

That was short and that's just how he shows his affection to his granddaughters. I didn't remember having days when I was hugged nor kissed by him when I was little, as it is the scene in this book, but I do know that he does love his granddaughters, by the few words he speaks.
 

And was so touched by that confiding little kiss that all his crustiness vanished, and he just set her on his knee and laid his wrinkled neck against her rosy one, feeling as if he had got his own little granddaughter back again. Beth ceased to fear him from that moment, and sat there talking to him as cozily as if she had known him all her life, for love casts out fear and gratitude can conquer pride (page 89).

I haven't even finished reading this book. I'm still 500ish pages away from the end, but there are so many things already that I couldn't keep it myself. Maybe, once I've finished this, I'll come back here and tell you how my little heart has felt over the entire book.

As what this book has reminded me of, for the new year, I probably should be a more loving person, because no one could survive the cold and harsh world without the warmth and the comfort of love from those who matter.