Theloopylululog

WordPressji…You are finally there! Congratulations!

You have managed to ask me a question that I can answer you in a jiffy and that too in singular! Now we are getting somewhere! Bravo!

That ONE thing I used to worry about ulcerously was…any guesses?

Am I good enough?

Back in the day — when I say this, I mean in another lifetime — all my older versions worried their lives into a ulcer wondering if they were good enough.

Starting with am I a good baby? — don’t roll your eyes, will you! — I was supposedly a crybaby, often silenced with a yell or a raised hand or a good old frenzied shake. So yes, the fear that I wasn’t good enough stemmed from being manhandled for being just a baby. Doing what babies do best — showing off my Ph.D at crying!

Apparently not. My siblings beat me to it. They barely cried. Hozzzat!

Am I a good student?

Next stop : School.

I came prapared for this from the womb. Before the pistol was shot, I was halfway into the race. Aced all the tests. Ran every race. Won every prize.

Result: A good old thrashing for missing an afternoon session at 5, punished for waiting sensibly in the playground for a sports/ stamina test instead of the classroom, beaten for second hand listening to a talkative neighbour, constant harrangue for a state rank by every one and their parent and the same old parental/ relational/ familial sentiment — you could have done better.

Apparently not. Even a 95% wasn’t good enough.

Am I a good sibling?

I practically worshipped my older sister and younger brother. Followed them everywhere like a dog tied to a leash and bent over backwards to be the best sister in the world.

Apparently not. They share a better relationship with each other than with me. I remained the odd one out. Even my parents share a deeper bond with them both. Once a black sheep, always a black sheep.

Am I a good daughter?

This was by far the most challenging exam of my life.

Like a circus monkey, I learnt every trick in the trade, created some new interesting ones, performed them to the best of my abilities day in and day out. Years passed. Decades turned their pages until grey hair turned my head into a chessboard Kasparov would be deeply interested in.

Apparently not. I said No to being a sheep. Chose an off the charts life. I declined a marriage, didn’t put my vagina to work to beget children and said No to a standard supermarket version of a settled life.

I tried my hand at all the things I am great at, not what the society thinks worthy. But that my friend ain’t worth a single point. Turns out they are only worth minus marks!

All this trying made me an intolerable perfectionist. All the doing, doing, doing led me to expect perfection from myself at every turn, every bend life took me to.

From everyone around expecting me to be good it had now become something worse, something diabolical. I became to expect perfection from myself in every sphere of my life. Nothing else would do.

Am I a good partner?

Because I had pretty much failed at all the other trials, I gave my everything to my relationships. Became a sacrificial goat who put my partners in a pedestal and worshipped them everyday. Cheered every move they made and offered a shoulder to cry when they failed. Completely dissolved my identity to fuel theirs. They became the purpose of my life.

I had to win this game. I had to come out being good enough to be considered for the trophy of a worthy wife.

Apparently not.

From Something doesn’t feel right, the timing is off, I am still working on myself, we aren’t a good fit, we should have met at a different time, it’s not you, it’s me — I have heard them all.

Am I good at design?

I worked 14 hours a day for my business. Year after year. For a decade. I didn’t have a life outside work. Everything suffered from health to wealth. But I kept at it. Chasing time. Chasing validation. Chasing the insatiable need to be good enough atleast at something that I was pouring my own blood and sweat into.

Apparently not. Not a single client came back with a genuine thank you for your time Lal. We appreciate you. There was always a catch somewhere fitted into the fake applause. A discount here, a free alteration there and extra styling consults for their entire family at no extra cost.

Saying No elicited pushbacks, denial of payments or abandoning ship.

I quit. Downed the shutters.

Fuck this! It’s ok if I am not.

4 years ago, on an August morning, a day very much like today; I finally asked myself to stop playing the game of Am I good enough?

I was tired. I had had enough. I was done trying.

I was no where near perfect. In fact I was just a massive failure the way I saw it. And for once I wanted to be okay with that.

Okay with just being whoever I was, however good or bad that was.

So I meditated instead.

Who sets these standards against which I am measuring my good enougness?

Who are they ?

Who is measuring?

What is being measured?

What is enoughness?

Who is the container trying to be good enough?

What is being filled into the container in the name of enoughness?

Who am I trying to satiate?

Beyond the I, me, myself lay a long line : family, friends, partners, teachers, society, the government, religion, culture, tradition…and so on and so forth.

Why am I trying to satiate them all?

Who are they to impose demands on me?

Why am I breaking myself into pieces trying to fulfill these impossible demands?

Aren’t we all unique creatures with our own brand of enoughness ingrained in us when we step into earth?

So why was I measuring myself against their brand of enoughness? Maybe my kind of enoughness is not enough for them. Maybe they are seeking a different kind of enoughness.

The fault isn’t mine. The fault isn’t theirs. We are just different people who define and appreciate enoughness differently.

The fault is in trying to imagine ourselves to be the same as the other.

No wonder they kept demanding and I kept trying to be good enough.

Over doing, over giving, over thinking, over extending. Trying to be everything, everywhere to everyone; all at once.

Until I completely lost myself.

That August for the first time I asked myself Who Am I? What lies beyond all else?

Sometimes only when you have lost yourself to the point of becoming colourless, odourless, formless, just bereft of all lessness; that is when the Divine answers you. Because only at that naked self-less state are you ready and willing to accept the answers that come your way.

Without going all woo woo on you, suffice to say I found MYSELF. And this SELF was self sufficient.

I no more ask Am I good enough to myself. I no more answer it when I am asked the question.

When I hear it on an off chance, I just give an all-knowing smile that seems to say do I look like I care and means I don’t give a damn and walk away.

I have forgiven myself for trying too hard for too long. Forgiven the world for pushing me too hard for way too long.

I am okay now with days when I don’t do anything at all and still go to sleep feeling fulfilled, overflowing with a feeling I like to call enoughness.