We are staying in a house on a tidal creek that winds through a marsh. It is mostly quiet, the weather is nearly perfect, and I have been doing more eating and sleeping than anything else, although I did go for a nice walk yesterday.
The house is comfortable, but it is beginning to show the effects of weather and time. The owner has made some improvements since last year, but repairing everything that needs attention would probably not be a wise use of his resources, so he has to be selective.
The van that brought us here is in a similar state. It is still reliable, but is beginning to show wear, from mileage, from cargo, and just from the habits of the driver, who slides into the seat the same way, always puts his feet at the same angle, and his arm in the same place on the door. You can tell by the wear patterns.
There is a dent in the back right corner of the van, from a concrete post in a parking deck. (I have observed that protecting their principal occupants from damage is not a significant parking deck design priority.) After obtaining a rough estimate of the cost to repair the dent, I decided to leave it alone. The paint still seems sound, so it is unlikely to rust or get any worse on its own.
When I pack for a vacation trip I almost always take a few objects intended for mental, physical, and psychological self-improvement. Exercise clothes and shoes, a blank journal, some puzzles, some books, including a few that I feel like I “need” to read, canoe and paddles, sometimes even a bicycle or our rowing machine, depending on space and time. And energy. And predicted level of motivation.
Like the owner of the old house, and the owner of the van, I have to make upkeep decisions about myself. This week I’m trying to discover the balance between striving to make myself a better person, and learning to live with myself, warts and all. The first is an admirable pursuit, but with the mileage on my odometer, I wonder how much flexibility I still have to change. I am quite aware of many of my flaws (including the recursive flaw of not knowing all of my flaws), but that doesn’t necessarily mean I should accept them.
Trying to change feels like work; self-acceptance feels lazy. It’s a quandary, a tug of war.
There’s an analogy found in the theology of my youth. It says (more or less) that we are created in the image of the Creator, and yet it is our nature to stray. We are echoes of the Divine, yet we “inherit a mind and an environment inclined toward sin,” as one writer puts it. So, I have the potential for perfection, yet I am pulled in the other direction.
I haven’t received any ultimate epiphanies yet, but I have been reminded that change is inevitable. There’s a new fence by the old house marking a previously-ignored property line. That portends an impact of some sort on our peaceful haven. There are some soft places in the wood on the porch that I don’t remember. I had to put new tires on the van, and the “check engine” light came on during the trip over. I think it was due to the load of all of my self-improvement paraphernalia.
This afternoon I think I will just sit here and enjoy being who I am. Tomorrow may bring more motivation. Or perhaps just more calories. We’ll see.