By Hannah Brenchner
A few months ago, I taught a reflective writing class at a retreat in Pasadena.
I wish I could remember the context of the conversation we were having. I only remember a woman talking about always having the cart with the squeaky wheel at Target.
Regardless, I remember saying aloud to her, “I always have the squeaky wheel at Target, too!” My mind flickered to the many times I’d entered that glorious emporium with the big red bullseye, only to pull a cart that sputtered and shook as I wheeled it around the store. In those moments, there is always a brief few seconds where I’m sure everyone knows I have the loud cart. I hear myself barreling towards the dollar section– disrupting everyone’s peaceful shopping experience with my squeaky wheels and my malcontent of a shopping cart.
But then, after those few seconds, I forget about the cart entirely. I move around the store and never again think about the squeaky wheel.
We all believe we have the loud cart. We all think we are sputtering, stopping, and starting again; everyone is watching us in disdain. In actuality, we’re all self-obsessing and rarely notice the squeaky wheels of the people around us.
For so long, this lie has held us captive that if something can’t happen perfectly and seamlessly, it shouldn’t happen at all.
If we can’t stick to the diet at 100%, then eating healthy has no real purpose.
If we can’t publish a masterpiece that goes wildly viral the first time, then there’s no use trying to write.
If we can’t go full monk mode and be off social media entirely, then there is no purpose in learning to unplug one hour at a time.
We live in these crazy extremes and hold ourselves to these impossibly high standards. And I think it’s why we fail again and again at things we desperately desire for our lives: energy and nourishment for our bodies, a lively and steady writing practice, and a present lifestyle that means we pay attention to the right things in life.
I can’t make many promises, but I can promise this: you aren’t going to avoid the squeaky wheel. If you commit to living more disciplined, there will be a squeaky wheel.
A day or a dozen days where it feels like all progress is lost.
To transform, we must open ourselves up to discomfort and detours, imperfection, and messy fits of starting and stopping. I’m afraid there is no other way. I’m worried there’s no other path.
So what would it look like to throw caution to the wind and blaze the path ahead proudly with the squeakiest wheel in the bunch?
What would it look like to show up shaky and imperfectly but determined to continue moving forward?
We’d see more progress if we could extend ourselves the grace to mess up a little.
I think about this so much more now that I’m a mother to a daughter who will grow up in this world and (more than likely) blasted by the pressure to be perfect. I’d save her from all the fumbling if I could, but I know the truth: you find yourself in the fumbling. That’s where the gold is made.
But, if I am afforded to tell her one thing, it will be this:
Baby girl, it is not about doing things perfectly. It’s about doing things. Period.
Doing things wobbly.
Doing things unsure.
Doing things when you’re scared.
Doing things when you’re quietly confident.
Doing things when you feel all the passion in the world and doing things when you don’t.
Doing things when it would be easier to quit.
Doing things when there’s criticism and doing things when there is radio silence.
This world is good at thick and slick-talking, but the people who do things– wobbly, afraid, and unsure of the outcome– actually change this world.
One of the reasons I love social media is because I love following other people’s journeys. I follow a few accounts where the individual is documenting a transformation journey. And I like it best when they’re honest and transparent and admit that they’re fumbling the ball or messed up but are deciding to keep showing up. That’s the kind of stuff that inspires me, and I bet it’s the same for you.
People don’t need your finished products and your perfect stories. People don’t need you never to fail or mess up or wobble.
But people need to know grace is available. People need reminders, often, that other people fall and get back up again. I think, in 2024 especially, we will need these reminders more.
It’s hard to find yourself in a story when it’s perfect. So often, we see ourselves in the fragments and the fumbling, in the vulnerable moments where things were tough, but someone decided to keep going anyway. We need more of those stories.
We’re at the starting line.
We’re not just going through the motions, my friend.
We’re embracing the squeaky wheels because it’s not about doing things perfectly. It’s about doing things. Period.
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