Reboot

I am a Virgo.

Virgos tend to be perfectionists. Now, this is not to say that we think that we are perfect, just that we strive for perfection in certain areas of our life. In my case, that is usually means an unimportant area – like having all of my frozen dinners alphabetized and stacked neatly in the freezer. But not is some way that would help me tremendously, like in following through with career goals or continuing my formal education.

Along with the perfectionist stuff, we are also overly critical. Especially regarding ourselves. This can be a pretty painful set up sometimes, because in striving to do something in an impossibly perfect way, we will inevitably fail to meet these outrageous standards we have set, and then proceed to beat ourselves up over it for years to come.

I see this in myself whenever I start a new project, and it doesn't start off as well as I had hoped. Instead of plugging along in spite of the problems, I will end up abandoning the whole thing because it isn't perfect. And even if other people don’t notice the imperfection, I know it is there, lurking beneath the surface, and it taunts me at every turn. So, I give up.

A few years back, my father and I traveled to the home of our Harbin ancestors in the English town of Yeovil. It was probably the best trip of my life.


Yeovil is a little village located in southwestern England. It is just a few miles south of Stonehenge. For as long as I can remember, I wanted to visit Stonehenge. It is a place that I have been drawn to in such a strong way, that I can't even begin to explain.



Dad and I arrived at the site pretty early in the morning. And as we came up from the tunnel under the road, and the monument came into view, it was as if the world stood still around me. I couldn't hear the nearby traffic, the voices of the other tourists, I could only hear my own heartbeat. And at that moment, I immediately recognized something so deep within myself, so ingrained in my DNA, that it stretched back 5,000 years. I understood completely what Stonehenge was, and who was responsible for its existence.



Stonehenge was the work of one of my ancient ancestors. I'm sure that it was a project he started with the best of intentions. He carefully gathered all the materials he would need, scouring the world for just the right rocks even if he had to import them from many miles away (and probably paying extra for expedited shipping and handling.) Once the stones were in his pasture, he began placing the stones in just the right spots and positions. And then suddenly - a stone tipped over. He tried to upright it, but you could probably still see the dent in the earth where it had tipped over. He may have tried to fluff the grass where the dent had been, and maybe rake a few leaves around to make it less obvious. But that just probably made it seem worse to him.



I'm sure his neighbor wandered over, and commented on his nice collection of stone, and how impressive it all looked. He probably said, "Hyrb (Harbin in ancient Celtic) - it looks fine. No one will see the indention. They will just enjoy these massive stones and all the hard work you've put in." But Hyrb could see the dent, and he just couldn't let it go. So, knowing that it was less than perfect, he just gave up - left his carefully selected stones out in the field, hoped no one would notice his failure, and moved on, a few miles to the south, and perhaps to his next great project.

There are a lot of Stonehenges in my past. Some big, some small. Discarded, half-done needlepoint pillowcases where I missed a stitch, and though I tried valiantly to pull out the stitch and sew over it, I could still see the minuscule threads of the bad stitch. An entire closet full of empty photo albums, frames and assorted scrapbooking tools, all collecting dust while waiting for me to start making those perfect picture displays and keepsakes - if only I could decide on a consistent theme or style. And of course, the corpses of my abandoned blogs, little corners of the cyberspace where I had every intention of posting witty comments and thoughts on life at least twice a week, but where there currently lies dozens of half written drafts that I could never complete, because I couldn't come to grips with the imperfection of my writing. Cause, you know, the Virgo thing.

So. Here we are. I've picked up, moved a few miles south, and am ready to try again.

Maybe this one will be perfect.