In Support of Mediocrity

 

     There are some things at which I am very good: parenting, growing acorn squash, working out consistently and eating popcorn.  There are also some things at which I am very bad: sprinting, drinking enough water, and staying out of Goodwill. For the most part, I have learned to accept these things. I have been a runner now for 21 years and I have yet to break any land speed record at any distance and I’m okay with that. I also know that it is nearly impossible to pass Goodwill knowing I might score an amazing deal (hello: $2.70 for a Boeri ski helmet.)  

  However, for many years now (seven to be exact) I have berated myself for my subpar performance as a member of the Junior League. I have never gone above and beyond, sold a huge number of tickets or come up with a fantastic new community program. At the beginning of each year, I have huge dreams of ending childhood hunger and obesity in Massachusetts, generating a gigantic media following complete with national coverage and doubling the size of our small membership so we can solve the teen parent problem next year. Oddly enough, none of these things have happened despite their not so firm hold in anything resembling any kind of reality in which I live.

                Last night, at a Junior League meeting, I was looking around the room at my friends’ shoes and also, of course, paying attention to what was being said. My shoes were so dirty, caked in whatever that white stuff is that’s leftover after a snowstorm and there was a hole in one side of them which I hadn’t noticed before. All of my friends’ shoes were lovely. Some wore leather boots, some wore heels and some even wore those super cute heeled booties that I can’t wear because I don’t even know which socks go underneath. I was feeling inferior again because of my awful shoes and drew myself back into the questions at hand for the rest of the meeting.

     I left that meeting making mental lists of all I could do, now, to make up for all my mediocrity throughout the past seven years. As we were walking out, one of my friends sought me out and started chatting about her kids. At once, I felt right at home because I, too, have dealt with kids who won’t wear coats and kids who like to put everything in their mouths right as flu season is in full swing. Whenever one of these parenting conversations comes up, I often have a couple of tricks up my sleeve or can offer the encouragement I know I needed when all of my children were very young. Parenting young children is my wheelhouse; it’s where I shine.

      I walked with my filthy shoes to my car smiling. Why? Because I realized something. We don’t all have to be great at everything, and the truth is, we probably can’t be.  I might never raise the most money or have the most innovative ideas, but I can send a few emails, make a few phone calls and generally lighten the load. I can be the one with the dirty shoes and the funny, poignant story about my four year old. I can be great at mediocrity and that’s just fine with me.