Drop the Ball

Last Spring our au pair, Lucy, decided that she could find a better family for whom to be an au pair. She stopped coming out of her room and stopped talking to us while she was in the process of finding her "new family." The only way she'd communicate was through texts. It was really one of her more mature moves (sarcasm), and one that convinced me that she might as well move on to a new family in a new city.

On her last day at our house, I wished her the best of luck with her new family - via text! - and then I took Trixie to school. Worried about invading Lucy's space on her last day, I went to the library. I picked up the book, Drop the Ball: Achieving More by Doing Less by Tiffany Dafu, read it by the library's fireplace (and never saw Lucy again).

This is a great book; not because I agreed with everything Dafu wrote, but because she makes some really interesting points. She points out the downfalls of trying to do everything onesself, and the gains to be had if you trust other people. Her advice, find what's important to you, do it, drop the other stuff.

Because... if you are always in control of everything, you deprive the other people in your life the space to grow and shine.

Dafu advises that families with working parents make a matrix (together!) and assign household responsibilities to a parent, or make a conscious decision to completely drop the responsibility. We haven't done this. But I did take to heart her suggestion that I should choose which things are important to me, and which things aren't and LET MY PARTNER DO SOMETHING, whether he does it as well as me or not. I think this is key: realizing that not everybody does things the same way you do, but that doesn't exclude the fact that somebody else's way of doing things might have advantages you haven't considered.

Take Thanksgiving: I mentioned on Monday that there would be no turkey and no special meal, right? I consciously decided to drop the ball. But then, Fritz was unsatisfied with this answer and guess what? He shopped for the meal (+ turkey) with the kids, then he made it, and we all ate it, and the kids weren't totally PITAs, and it was really lovely and I DIDN'T DO A THING. I enjoyed myself. I smiled and felt happy and relaxed. I didn't even miss making the apple pie, which I love to make.

(Aside: Noah couldn't remember ever having an apple pie before in his life, even though I've made one every single year for Thanksgiving until now. Even with kids hanging all over me. Sheesh.)

I needed to read Dafu's words because I grew up in a family where loyalty and sacrifice for the family were paramount. The expectations were always high. And we (the kids) were always expected to sacrifice our own needs for the greater good. I think we all carried this idea of sacrificing for the well-being of others, and always doing your best no matter what, with us into adulthood. In Dafu's book, the problem with this kind of selfless sacrifice and the need for doing one's best is gendered. In my life, not so much. In my life, I know an awful lot of people who believe that they do everything the best and that, therefore, they have to do everything, because nobody else will. In the words of my grandfather: If you want something done right, do it yourself. We heard this endlessly while growing up.

The challenge of this mindset is that it very quickly slides into martyrdom. I see it all around me in my perfectionist family, friends, and co-workers: I'm the only one who ever dusts the fans. I'm the only one who makes nutritious meals for my kids, I'm the only one who can answer this question. I work so hard. I'm so busy. And then: Nobody appreciates me. I can't trust anybody. Nobody is worthy of me. 

The thing is...I'm pretty sure that Dafu is right. We have to drop the ball. This act is on us: the perfectionists, the control-freaks. WE have to drop the ball, preferably, before we become martyrs. If we don't drop the ball, we miss seeing the brilliance of other people. We miss the opportunity to relax and smile while eating store bought apple pie. And we give others a ridiculously high standard to cross, all while putting our own selfish egos first.