Good Enough

"Don't let perfection stand in the way of good enough." 

From centuries of well-spoken thoughts by Voltaire, Confucius, 

Shakespeare 

This quote has been bouncing around in my brain for a couple of weeks, after it linked up with another random question about how the drive for perfectionism affects my golf shots, blogs, storytelling performances, and daily life.

Arlo & Janis 10/29/19 Norman Transcript

Nine years ago when I began blogging my writing wasn't perfect, and my stories and grammar still are not perfect. I realized that in my first few months of writing that IF I wrote/rewrote, then edited/reedited my hand would never push the 'publish' button and my blog would go empty.  By taking a deep breath I discovered I could hit the publish button. 

My purpose of writing the blog, originally, was to write stories that I could then tell in public for paid performances. A few years later, I felt like my stories contained value. Though not perfect they sounded good enough to me. 

     "Yesterday, as we walked, the muted fall leaves scurried like little mice across the streets, under our feet, around the corners, and down from above.  Still it was quiet and the animals in the neighborhood slept on. My mind, too, was quiet, until suddenly a yard sprinkler system came on full blast. Shivers crept up my wet side as I danced to the right and out into the center of the street. Lucy was faster and never a drop touched her fur."




This story became stinkier the longer I walked that morning with Lucy, and it could most certainly stand a revision. If I had waited on perfection the story,  Dancing in the Breeze, might have been neglected and eventually forgotten due to time restraints and frustrations, and this delightful memory lost. 




In the last decade of playing golf, working out, going to physical therapy I discovered that I could not hit the ball with the efficiency and perfection I once knew; I could not work out as long as I demanded of myself; I could not

Dornick Hills cliff hole #16 where I could not hit my 8 iron over it from 100 yards.

perform some of the exercises they gave me.  All of these could nots finally stung me with needles of anger and frustration. One day in early spring I began to say to myself "that shot wasn't perfect but it sure didn't hurt me (both literally and figuratively)."  I made a tally mark on my scorecard of the shot that was good enough.  

In the beginning, I found myself critical of what constituted a 'good enough' shot. On a scale of 1-10 (think of Bo Derek) I expected a shot to be an 8,9,10 which correlated to 5-8 shots out of 45 being good enough. 

It's amazing how happy I can be when I realize that the good shots out weighed the bad. 

"This is not a test," I reminded myself. It is a game, a pleasant reminder of life. So...The next few rounds of golf became more relaxed and more tally marks appeared. Week by week I began to find more positive things about my golf score, and transferred that positivity to my work outs. Some of which I found that just finishing was good enough. 

A close friend from years of teaching, writing, and performing designed a t-shirt for the OU/Texas game this year and gave them to several friends.  When she posted her design on Facebook she made the note: It's not perfect but it is done.    

Inspiration--A Story A Story

Rainbows over the Highlands.

It’s been several years since I told stories professionally.  Now I tell stories through my blog, through social gatherings, quietly in my head, on pieces of paper that I eventually lose, and sometimes for organizations who want a 30-60 minute speaker.  I like it best when there is an audience; where eyes and hearts will interact with the stories I share, but I beam with joy when someone replies to a blog posting that reached out to them.

        Like storytellers for eons of time, I believe that life’s sorrows, worries, triumphs, and joys can be endured when told in a story.  “Stories have to be told or they die, and when they die, we can’t

Book Dog

remember who we are or why we’re here.”  (Sue Monk Kidd, The Secret Life of Bees.)   Sometimes stories lie way down in my belly and other times they drift through my head like spinning spirally clouds.  It’s when they are not surrounding me that I feel most alone.  That’s when I reflect and turn to a place or time for inspiration.  

I needed to refresh my brain with stories and memories, so I went to my book cup board to search.  Books have always taken me vicariously through life, often giving me new roads to explore.  When the cupboard opened there sat my puppet, Book Dog, cramped in a corner but happy to see me.  I laughed because I was confident that I had not left him there.  What mystery of life had taken a puppet out of bag and set him in front of a door for me to see at this moment?  Ah!, yes, a house full of children one weekend played with the puppets and helped me rearrange the shelves.  The laughter of seeing the puppet, the memories of children’s voices asking for

Jefferson puppeteers

Book Dog, and the stories themselves began to flow easily through my mind’s eye. 

I took a notebook filled with my favorite stories, and headed to the patio to sit in the sun and read.  Inspiration with each story took me back to a time when stories came to life in the eyes of the children surrounding me.  A tear trickled down my face and I smiled.  The children who inspired me to share stories

Prairie Hills Middle School Storytellers

of laughter, of sadness, of courage, and to take those unexpected journeys in life are now grown.  To all of you I say, “Thank you for sharing your enthusiasm of life, your imaginative thoughts, your real life adventures, and for opening your hearts to a well told story.”

A story A story, Let it Come, Let it Go. 

P.S.  After posting this story only 24 hours ago I have been in touch with two of my former students, who were storytellers.  We can't imagine how much difference we make in each others lives by simply sharing a story from the heart.  



*Thank you Cindy Dale for this beautiful photo of the double rainbow over the Highlands.  

*students from PHMS: April Whittington, Becky Walenz, Ben Rawlins, Lindsey Snyder, Omid Heidari.   

Miami Memories: A Lasting Imprint

I'm one of the few 6%, and I have Mrs. Louise Watson, Shari Lewis, and Minnie Pearl to thank for that.  Not long ago The Today show discussed career choices people have made.  In a study in the Journal of Social Forces, just 6% of adults have ended up in the careers they had aspired to when they were kids. Then I considered mine, and what about my friends or classmates.  Did any of us even think about careers back then?  If we did was it a dream, a goal, a vision of the future, or was there someone we wanted to be?  

For as long as I can remember I really just wanted to be a mother, secretly a comedian, but LuJean Howard was already our class clown, so that job was taken.   I loved performing tricks at my parent's parties, and telling stories to the neighborhood kids, but Hollywood never beckoned me.  If I were going to go to college then of course, I would be a teacher, but sometimes I dreamed of becoming a race car driver or a world traveler who published stories about exotic places to visit.    By high school, I knew after reading On the Beach that I'd become an English teacher, move to Australia, then naturally, I'd make a difference in the lives of hundreds of people and change the world along the way, if we lived that long. 

Along the way life opened and closed several other doors before I found my calling and career.  By age 19 I was already a substitute teacher, then I worked with Head Start after Katy was born, but my lucky break came when the Miami Public Library needed a children's librarian.  Suddenly, I had the best job in the world, and it blossomed to be one of the best choices of my life.  The Saturday morning and afternoon story hours were empty because there was a new yellow big bird on television that had garnered every ones attention.  To be honest I was nervous about telling stories to children, so when no one arrived I felt relieved, but then it became a challenge.  How to fill the library with children at all hours of the day.  I began to reflect on my recent childhood and recalled how much I loved Minnie Pearl, Shari Lewis, and so many entertainers I'd see on the Ed Sullivan Show.  

One day I found an old puppet in a closet and brought it to life when the puppet found the warmth of my hand and saw the smile on my face.  I imagined I was Shari Lewis talking to Lamb Chops.  I then taught myself how to make puppets, so children coming to story hour would have puppets to use. 

Serendipitously, a class on storytelling was being offered and I thought, "how perfect and so easy."  I was so wrong.  I worked day and night for three weeks to learn one story that only lasted about eight minutes!  In the end, I was hooked, and I spent the rest of my life pursuing stories to tell for children and adults.  How lucky can one person be. I did my best to reflect on the smile and

enthusiasm of Minnie Pearl.  Her voice still echos in my mind, "How Deeee folks. I'm jist so proud to be here."  Her smiling face convinced me that she meant every word she spoke. Her jokes and funny stories made us all laugh, and I loved to hear my parents laughing while watching her.


The hardest lesson came when I realized that I'd never make a living as a librarian without a college degree.  Being a single parent made the choice easy, stay near family and finish my education.  Now raising a little girl,  I wanted to become an elementary teacher or librarian.

It was the quiet sincere librarian, Mrs. Watson, who had left the greatest imprint on my life by sincerely believing that books and reading could make a difference in our lives.  At Central Jr. High we had a 3rd floor study hall with a tiny room filled with books.  A few hours a day Mrs. Watson worked up there while her remaining time was in the real high school.  I loved to be in that hushed room and smell the paper and books.  Even when those ratty old boys became

obnoxious in study hall, little Mrs. Watson could quiet them down. High school was no different, a large study hall room and small dimly lit library, but again her smile and passion for reading set me at ease.  She handed me a thick historical romance and suggested I read it cover to cover. When I finished that book I felt empty on the inside, like I'd lost a friend or a family. It was about a woman who was to marry Napoleon, but fate changed her life. Perhaps, the pulse and heartbeat of love on the pages of a book changed my fate, too.

Mrs. Watson had me hooked for life, and now more than 50 years later and a career as a librarian and teacher, I still smile deeply inside hoping I made a difference in at least one person's life.  
  
Letty Stapp Watt, storyteller and historian