In her comment on my post about my tri, Trishka wondered: "I don’t know how you manage to do all that you do — work full time, have two small children, volunteer, and to train for a triathlon on top of it."
The short answer is that I do it by not trying to be perfect at any one of the things I do, let alone all of them, and with a lot of help from my husband*. This doesn’t strike me as that radical a concept, but it occurred to me that maybe it is. In her comment on Landismom’s open letter to moms who have left the paid workforce, Mary Tsao wrote: "I couldn’t do the crazy busy lifestyle anymore. I didn’t feel I was doing any of my jobs (mom, wife, worker) to the best of my ability."
I’m willing to admit that I’d probably be better at my job if I didn’t have as much else going on in my life. I’d do more reading in the evenings and more travelling. And I wouldn’t have afternoons where I just found out that the principal of my kid’s school resigned and spend half my time emailing around to try to learn more. I don’t think I could love my kids more than I do, but I could be less frazzled, have more time to spend in their classrooms or just hanging out, bake cookies more often.
But I don’t think I’m short-changing either my boss or my kids. At both work and home, I feel like I’ve got a good grip on what’s necessary, what’s nice, and what’s icing on the cake. (For example, in this household, reading a story at bedtime is necessary; a bath every night is icing on the cake.) And I’ve got enough flexibility at both ends, that I’ve never felt like I’ve had to sacrifice something that’s necessary, and often — although not always — get to do the nice things too.
Running provides a good analogy. I know that I’m a far better runner when I run 20 miles a week than when I run 5 or 10. And I’m a better runner when I run 40 than when I run 20, but the improvements are more subtle, and only really matter if I’m trying to set a personal record or to qualify for Boston. And above about 50 miles a week, additional training becomes counterproductive — my body starts to protest, and there’s a real risk that I’m going to injure myself.
There are people who are happy focusing all their energy in one part of their life; I’m just not one of them. Barbara Sher calls people like me "scanners" and has a new book out called "Refuse to Choose! A revolutionary program for doing everything that you love." For years, I’ve been carrying around two quotes from Composing a Life, by Mary Catherine Bateson:
"Composing a life is a little like making a Middle Eastern pastry, in which the butter must be layered in by repeated folding, or like making a samurai sword, whose layers of differently tempered metal are folded over and over."
. . . and this:
"It would be easier to live with a greater clarity of ambition, to follow
goals that beckon toward a single upward progression. But perhaps
what women have to offer in the world today . . lies in the very rejection of forced choices: work or home, strength or vulnerability, caring or competition, trust or questioning. "
"We see achievement as purposeful and monolithic, like the sculpting
of a massive tree trunk . . . rather than something crafted from odds
and ends, like a patchwork quilt, and lovingly used to warm different
nights and bodies."
*Amended to acknowledge, as Laura pointed out, that I also get an enormous amount of support from T, who is at home with the kids. I was not meaning to downplay his role in keeping this family going, or to suggest to anyone who feels that she’s in over her head that the problem is her perfectionism. I recognize that with special needs kids, inflexible jobs, or lack of family support, something may well have to give. I wrote this post because I’m fascinated by how hard it is to admit that doing lots of things means that I’m often not doing the best at any of them. And in particular by how hard it is to let go of the idea of being the "perfect mother" — even when there’s another parent at home. This may deserve a post of its own.