New Year's Resolution: Love, Me

By: Maria Pascucci
Submitted: 2007-01-17 16:41:48
Print this article | Tell a friend | For publisher |

Rating:

 

I started a new trend two years ago on New Year’s Eve, which also happens to be my birthday. Instead of writing a rigid list of resolutions for the next year, I write myself a thank you note, highlighting all my accomplishments, big and small, from the previous year. When I take the time to write down everything I achieved, I’m usually in awe by what I’ve learned and how much I’ve grown.

But I didn’t always feel that way.

When I was 16, I wrote in my journal, “I have set many goals for myself and I will not be satisfied until I’ve achieved them all.” Every night I was in my room doing endless hours of homework while my friends were out having fun. “C’mon, Maria. We’re going skating,” they’d plead over the phone. Sorry, paper’s due. “We’re going out for ice cream.” Nope. Sorry. “Don’t you want to have fun?” Sigh. I dove into my books and told myself it’ll all be worth it someday.

It was as if some relentless mandate for success had been programmed into my brain, moving me like a salmon determined to swim upstream. It was a never-ending storm of expectations that was swallowing me whole. Perfect grades. Perfect college. Perfect career. Perfect life. Perfect looks. Pay attention world. I’ll show you how it’s done.

In 2001, I walked across a spotlighted stage with tears in my eyes and accepted my summa cum laude college diploma while my family snapped pictures and beamed with pride. I was crying not because all my dreams had come true, but because I had stressed myself out to the point of being sick. And worse, my childhood dream to be a writer was as lifeless and empty as my blank journal page taunting me to compose one word more perfect than the next. From somewhere inside echoed these words: You’re not a writer -- you fake. You’ll never be good enough. You’ll never take that risk. Coward. You with the perfect grades. It means nothing. You’re nothing.

A psychologist once told me that a perfectionist might have to hit a wall in order to make a personal choice to cut herself some slack. I hit mine walking across that stage. FINALLY. Plowed right into it with my little perfect existence. My eyes were really opened for the first time in my life; I was a newborn taking my first peak at a frightfully glorious world.

This message really hit home at my grandfather’s bedside one sunny September afternoon in the ICU. While the cancer shut down Grandpa’s body one cell at a time and all I wanted to do was wrap myself in the moment and never let him go, he told me, “Maria, don’t stay in here. It’s beautiful outside. Go. You have better things to do.” He understood. He knew that life was precious and that I should seek out its treasures before I would have to say goodbye. How bitter would my goodbyes be someday if I looked back and realized I’d never really lived?

Recently, I leapt off a lofty cliff and decided to live my dream of becoming a writer. My husband fully supported my decision even though it meant he would become the main breadwinner until my business took off. Unfortunately, not everyone in my life had been so wonderful.

Some friends and relatives refuse to believe that I work just because I happen to set up shop from home. Not long ago, I would have internalized their criticism and allowed them to dictate my definition of success. But not anymore. I realize now that I don’t have to live up to their expectations. I know that as long as I follow my heart, I’m doing my education proud. And more importantly, I’m doing myself proud. I finally realize that I’m good enough after all … and I always was.

A young woman writer recently asked, “I can be anything I want so how do I choose?” For New Year’s ’07, I think I’ll send myself this thank you note: “Thank you for accepting yourself and being happy with that.”

Love,

Me.

Article source: Expert Articles