Perfection’s Pedestal
When did you become aware of your mortality?
I don’t mean to suggest that I previously thought myself immortal, but it has been this last year that I’ve become increasingly aware of the limitations of my own physicality. The mortal nature of my own self, beliefs, and behaviours.
I have had a reputation amongst friends of being the one that doesn’t get ill. There is likely some romanticism at play here, and perhaps some stubborn refusal to admit that I have been unwell on the occasions when it has occurred (mantras of: “I don’t ‘do’ ill” have featured heavily). However, generally I’ve not been one to suffer at the hands of colds, flus, or any other illness, major or minor. (If you are close to something made of wood at this point, do feel free to touch it…)
Yet, change came swiftly on Christmas Eve 2021 when I began to feel my muscles ache. I went to bed, shivering yet perspiring, and lo, on Christmas Day the gift that no one asked for: a positive Covid-19 test. Whilst this didn’t develop into anything sinister (my symptoms barely registering as anything that might be called symptomatic), it did shake my confidence. It seems that I can indeed fall prey to a virus, much like everyone else.
Since then, I have not felt like myself. A weakness in my perfectly buffed armour has been exposed – I have need to take a day off, to rest, to look after myself. This is not the persona that I have carefully honed all these years; the mantle of perfectionism rests heavy upon those who choose it.
Indeed, the last two weeks have also seen me afflicted by an irritating cough (likely linked to fatigue, a virus, and the tell-tale sign of the mid-30’s: acid-reflux). This has annoyed me far more than it should have done as I could not honestly tell you the last time I had a cough – it is something that just doesn’t happen to me, I didn’t even have that as a symptom when I had the blasted C-word.
This cough has coincided with a general sense of lethargy, and an untimely curtailment of a big hike that has been in the planning for months. It has at times felt that body and the universe have been in illicit cahoots. I have not been amused.
However, there is a lesson to be learned here – should I be open to learning it.
Whilst this has been personally unfolding, I have also noticed the attempts to at best demoralise, and at worse smear the Finnish Prime Minister. Sanna Marin has hit the headlines for a party that occurred on the premisses of the Finnish PM’s residence, as well as some, quite frankly, quite tame photos of partygoers present. Whilst I engaged with the story to some extent, it was not that which gripped me. It was that Sanna Marin was able to lead a government and a country, whilst also making the time to let go and have fun.
Letting go is not something I have ever been good at. “What will be, will be” is a laudable mindset, one which I hope to one day embody, but right now I can only glimpse on the horizon across a sea of suspicion. Yoga has helped me begin to sail across these tides, but I’m not there yet.
By modern logic, our leaders ought to be perfect, pristine and certainly never play. That’s why when they make mistakes, as they will undoubtedly do, they have so far to fall. We implore them not to be human, perhaps because we fear what being human truly means.
I have had my own experience of this as a leader, especially within the church, but also in corporate contexts. The expectations set upon a leader, particularly one who is not a natural member of the in-crowd or the (it must be said, usually) boys’ club, are another piece of heavy armour to carry around. What then can occur is a distancing from others, a disengagement from fun, and a disbelief in fallibility.
As a gay man who continues to hold a position of relative leadership with the context of the Christian faith in Britain, I am under scrutiny. I remember a mentor from many years ago once phoning me, around the time our relationship was clearly ending, offering what would likely be her final words of advice to me. It was something along these lines:
“Be careful of where you are seen to be, who you are seen to be with, and what photos of you appear on the internet.”
These words are over a decade old now, but they have stuck with me. Her advice, it seems, was rooted in a fear that I had been seen in a gay bar (just at the time I was coming out publicly), and that these photos of me having a good time with my friends could be misused. Ironically, I wasn’t in a gay bar, and I was out with my entirely female group of friends, but the perception of others was paramount.
Sanna Marin is not alone in the unreasonable expectations that are placed upon her. An idea of perfect leaders, where perfect doesn’t include having fun, letting go, even making mistakes. The Finnish Prime Minister has admitted that photos ought not to have been taken, and that she regrets some of what has taken place – yet for many, that won’t be enough. Her humanness is seen to be her weakness.
I might add that it is not that I believe having fun is to be weak, but that rather, in our world of instant communication, it opens us up to criticism. The inference being: if we are having fun, are we capable of being strong and capable professionally too?
It seems that for Sanna Marin this will not be an episode that leaves her unscathed, and for that I am deeply sad. Regardless of her role and title, she is simply human. I wonder then, what it might look like if we all allowed us to acknowledge a simple and frail humanity?
We get sick, we say stupid things, we upset people, we break things. “To err is human…”, so we’re told.
It is likely that this humility in fragility will first need to start within our own selves. The scorn we cast upon others is so often scorn we have held for ourselves, nurturing it within our hidden depths. Let us accept that we are fragile, prone to weakness and defeat, so that we might in turn be kind to the next person who stumbles before us.
“…to forgive, Divine” so the words from Alexander Pope above continue. Are we able to set scorn aside for forgiveness, expressing that act of divinity? Forgiving first ourselves, so that we in turn might forgive others.
If forgiveness isn’t a word you’re comfortable with, or indeed language that speaks of the Divine sets you on edge, then perhaps we might rephrase this as acts of kindness. Are we able to set aside scorn for kindness, expressing that act of compassion? Being kind first to ourselves, so that we in turn might be kind to others.
It is not a simple task, nor will it be one that is universally taken to – so entrenched are our critical views of perfectionism. Yet the cycle renews when we each in turn take responsibility for our own self and our actions, demonstrating the kindness that so many others would neglect.
Today my challenge is simple, perhaps yours might be too: exercise grace in the face of critical perfectionism, and let the pedestal be knocked down.