Falling short...
A note on striving, self-compassion, and the stories we tell ourself
That was my default answer when I called my mum, and she asked how things were going. I feel like I’m falling short as a father, as a partner, in business, and on some projects I am working on, and in the friendships and relationships I haven’t had time to tend to. In the small task I promised my mum weeks ago, I still haven’t done it. Fixing a part of my daughter’s bike that’s over a year old. The list goes on, and perhaps that’s why I felt and said, “I’m falling short.”
My partner overheard this. And she looked at me, with this face that I can only describe as full of compassion, and said:
“How can you say you’re falling short when you’re doing more than above the impossible?”
When she first said it, it didn’t land. Later, I asked her what she meant, and she said it made her sad to hear I felt that way. That she sees how hard I work, how much I try to keep juggling everything I’m doing and be as present as I can be with the family. Which I know I am, or at least I know how hard I am trying, but I genuinely couldn’t see what she sees. I wasn’t sure how to process her acknowledgement.
What I noticed is this: the things I feel ‘bad’ about are often about unfinished tasks, our disagreements are almost always about things I haven’t done yet, things I haven’t prioritised, because something else would get in the way or I would pick up a less important task (but most certainly urgent), or I would procrastinate the bigger thing I really need to tackle because of some inner blokkade. I have moments where I feel this visceral gap between where I am and where I think I should be, and can lose sight of what I’ve achieved.
Am I really falling short?
That same week I had that chat with my mum, I had taken my daughter out to learn to ride a bike with pedals. On her first day on her new bike, she pushed with her pedals. I let go of the back of her jacket as I held it for stability, and as a newborn horse, taking its first wobbly steps, I saw her going zig-zag, finding her balance to finally start riding her bike all by herself. As I shouted “peddle, peddle, peddle” I watched her take flight and finding stability. I was moved to tears. This momentous occasion that seems impossible to describe, a sense of pride, joy and ‘she’s finally doing it’. Seconds later, as she goes all the way to the far end of this skate park, I shout “brakes, brakes”, as my heart skips a beat, but thankfully she also eventually learns to stop 😅
Is this not progress?
And then there are work projects, and events I’ve poured my heart into these past months: team off-sites, leadership programmes, mediation sessions, most reviewed and evaluated very well, although plenty to learn and grow from, I am constantly scanning for what I could have done better, not giving what went well the attention it deserves. It’s as if the celebrations are available to everyone else, but not for me. I can’t celebrate, not yet, at least. I still have work to do, still things to knock off my list, things to improve, pending tasks to tackle, administration still needs tending, I’m never done, never completed, the list is not all checked off, so I won’t allow myself to celebrate yet.
I don’t think that drive is entirely wrong; there’s something I enjoy about having my reach be further than my grasp: to be ambitious and endeavour for more, and somehow knowing, deep down inside, I can’t accomplish it. This striving signifies growth, development, evolution, or entering permanent beta mode. Not to seek perfectionism, but excellence, a healthy dissatisfaction and a refusal to plateau and be complacent.
But the line between unsatisfied and discontent is incredibly thin. And I think I’ve been crossing it without noticing, as I notice how my mood can feel weighted. What I think I’m after is to be unsatisfied and yet deeply content at the same time. To keep striving for those ambitious goals, without losing peace and celebrating what is taking place in this moment.
And the truth is, if I zoom out, my life doesn’t look anything like it did a few years ago. So much has happened: my family has expanded, our life goals have shifted, my business has been growing; Some of it is visible, some of it is quiet under the radar, some of it I won’t even recognise until later.
When working with executives and leaders, I point them to Kristin Neff's work on self-compassion. There’s an exercise that I try to practice myself and share with them, which is
“If someone you loved was in your exact situation: carrying what you’re carrying, doing what you’re doing, how would you speak to them? How would you respond? How would you treat them?”
Would you speak to them the way you speak to yourself? I know I wouldn’t.
So maybe that’s where I start, to pause long enough to actually see that I’m further ahead than I think. And, as I would a good friend, I’d console the person by reminding them that they’re doing the impossible as it is, so give yourself some props for that and stop being so harsh on yourself.
Perhaps I’m not falling short as much as falling forward, many times over, which means I am getting ahead further than I can see.