Unfounded satisfaction

We won’t necessarily feel better when we finally achieve the thing we’re hoping for. (Nova Scotia Archives)

When I was growing up, a friend’s house had slightly pink, soft lighting in the master bathroom.

Her mother said that she wanted the forgiving light so that she didn't have to feel bad every time she looked at herself in the mirror.

Another friend said, "I would want the lights to be bright so that I could fix things and look better."

Ah. To be sixteen again. Some things you can't fix, child. But this points to a divide:

Some people believe that the objective truth of who we are is more important than how we feel about ourselves.

I believe that, most of the time, how we feel about ourselves is more important.

I promise that I'm not straw-manning over here. Just last month, someone told me that if we're too comfortable, the risk is that we feel great about ourselves even when the feeling is unfounded.

And I thought, "Who decides whether the feeling should be unfounded? Who decides whether I deserve to feel great about myself?"

What if there is no objective truth about my performance? What if I get to feel as good as I want to, regardless of what someone else thinks?

I believe that I am allowed to feel great even if the feeling is unfounded. I don't see any risk there. I think that's the equilibrium I am searching for in life.

I don't have to earn a sense of self-worth and well-being. That's where I get to begin.

In fact, that's where we all began when we were little. We were satisfied. We had to learn how to feel bad about ourselves. We had to learn what we didn't know, and what we didn't know how to do. What we couldn't be.

I remember the exact moment, as a teenager, when I understood that I wasn't going to look like a model. I had picked up a Victoria's Secret catalog and was casually leafing through it when I suddenly realized that puberty, well underway, did not have the power to transform me into a voluptuous and symmetrically-featured creature like the ones I saw before me. That was the bar, and I was not hitting it. I felt a wave of loss and shame at this insight.

I have long since accepted and made peace with the idea that I don't look like a model. That is actually not the bar. That is not the standard.

I'm working on the idea that, as a matter of fact, there doesn't even have to be a standard. I'm fine just the way I am. It isn't going to help me to believe otherwise, even if I were to apply my makeup under bright lights and perhaps even undergo even more disruptive alterations to my appearance. I have no obligation to pursue any of that — not to myself, not to anyone else.

If I feel great about myself and my appearance, there are no police who have the authority to tell me I shouldn't. Not that people don't attempt to harm each other in this way all the time, but any sense of authority or objectivity they bring to such abuse is pretend.

I recently picked up a tennis racquet for the first time since June or July. What can I say? Between Covid, a cross-country move, and my husband's passion for sailing, I've had a hard time finding tennis partners. But now that I'm back in Atlanta for a bit, I'm playing a flex league and attending clinics when I can.

My favorite pro to work with is Joe Rahme. Unfailingly encouraging, Joe is kind and direct with his feedback. Even though I was clearly rusty my first night back, Joe was patient, steady, and offered just the right amount of challenge and correction. This is the tone he sets for all of the players in order to create a culture where it's okay to make mistakes and learn from them. We support and celebrate each other and keep things playful. As always, I left feeling uplifted and eager to return.

I know all too well that not every teacher or coach is able to create that experience. Some feel it is their responsibility to do the opposite. But even if our mentor's intention is to build our confidence, their efforts can be undone by the stories we tell ourselves about our performance and how it's not measuring up.

To get past this, we can remind ourselves that there is no objective measure of the value of a person. We don't actually have a responsibility to compare ourselves with anyone else or with an external standard.

At the Olympics today, where an athlete's work may well be measured by an external standard like a clock, it will still be necessary for these world class performers to find a place of peace and confidence inside that is beyond the reach of these modes of measurement. Not everyone will win a gold medal, but it's not only the gold medalists who deserve to go home feeling good about who they are and what they've done. Who's to say that their feelings of satisfaction and accomplishment are unfounded? Not me, and not anyone.