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Third Thursday-What's your Thrive?



Hello All and Welcome to the Thursday Thrive!

Let me start by saying that I wish life came with a soundtrack. Or that we could all go around singing like in musicals. How often do you just want to break out into song? Shimmy your shoulders? At the very least, bob that head? Surely that's not just me.

Today represents a particularly proud Thursday Thrive for several reasons. One-it actually came out on a Thursday. Two-I submitted my thesis statement to be finished with grad school. Three-Because of the fantabulous spring weather, I have been able to wear a dress almost every day this week. Four-27 days until summer.

Please don't get me wrong. I love my students, love my classroom. In all honesty, I will probably spend more time there than I don't this summer. I just like being able to say when I get there and when I leave. Perk to being a teacher.

Today bristled with glorious anticipation by all. The sun shone down on our sleepy little town. Over lunch, I walked to one of the local restaurants. I heard the birds chirping, smelled the dogwoods, and felt the gentle breeze caress my face. Life is good.

Confession time: I am a perfectionist. To the umpteenth degree. Nothing ever feels good enough, finished enough. I would write and rewrite copy a million times if I could. I can't think of a time when I wasn't a perfectionist.

To be completely honest, I never really knew how much perfectionism had seeped into my soul until I started working through graduate school. Perhaps I make checklists for my checklists. I also straighten things, look down, and say, "Perfect." Nevermind the item barely moved an inch. It sits exact now.

I do this all the time. Mostly, I do it completely unaware. The motion moved into my view when someone near and dear to my heart, who mirrors what I do, moved a sugar dish a fraction of an inch, looked down, and said, "Perfect."

When I saw her little head tilt, I knew I needed to break the perfect cycle. You see, I mop the floor and then dry it quickly to avoid streaks. It's pretty bad It started as most things do with daughters, with my mother and her Saturday morning inspections.

Growing up, I watched her move through life like a tornado. This woman packed a lot of dynamite into a five-foot frame. I remember being so frustrated with her. I can still hear her voice say, "That room better pass my inspection."

Of course, it never did. I inevitably got distracted. The music on the radio tended to be the culprit. I would sing into the hairbrush like nobody's business. Secretly, I still dream of singing at the Nashville Opry.

Always that knowing knock on the door. "How's it goin' in there?"

"Fine," I lied more often than not.

"You sure?"

"Yup."

Inspection came, and I failed. Start again. Do it right the first time, then you don't have to do it again.

Cut to graduate school. I loved it. Everything I ever wanted, I could do. I missed the academic rigor of classes. I missed the intellectual debates that came from being on a college campus. To be fair, I even missed the deadlines of papers.

Mom's words always rang heavy in my ears. I always tried to do it right the first time. When deadline for the thesis rolled around, fortune shined on me. My thesis adviser knew me well enough to say these 6 magic words, "It doesn't have to be perfect."

I chuckled. She knew me...well. I sat paralyzed for a time, watching a blank cursor taunt me on the screen. Do it right the first time. Inspiration suddenly hit me, and I finished. I submitted. I am sitting here nearly done with a masters in education.

I try to wrap my head around the fact that the woman who made it all possible isn't going to get to see me walk across the stage. On April 27th, my mom will have been gone for nearly two decades. A lifetime of Saturdays in. I still work for that inspection. Now, I have to live up to my own standards. Quite frankly, I think they might be higher than hers.


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