A Fleet of Unimpressive Gifts

... makes for an infinitely interesting life.

A few weeks ago, my husband and I went to play pickleball at a YMCA with a few outdoor courts for open play. Normally when we pull up, there are only one or two other players around, which means we can play a few rounds 1-on-1, or even jump into a friendly 2-on-2 game. We’re newbies, but Patrick played tennis growing up and is far more athletic than I could ever claim to be. He, for example, has a decent backhand. I, for example, have no idea what I’m doing.

This time, rather than a friendly game, we found ourselves in a melee of players, all vying for court time. There was a retiree with a knee-brace, a collegiate football player in Nashville for summer internship, a crowd of young-professionals who looked shiny and fresh, and a handful of others who took pity on us. We got clobbered, over and over again. I got so sick of hearing myself say “sorry,” I stopped speaking altogether.

Over margaritas an hour later, I looked at Patrick and said, “I just wish I was good at something.”

“You’re good at a lot of things,” Patrick said. “You’re a great mother. You’re a great friend.”

“No,” I said. “I mean, I wish I was good at something concrete. Something verifiable.”

Do you ever feel invisible? Do you ever feel like no one sees an ounce of the effort you’re pouring into your life? Do you ever feel like you used to have potential and now you just have a whole lot of bills?

Motherhood, friendship, marriage and writing — these are the things I spend my days doing. There are no rules. No one keeps score. Most of what is done is done in private, behind closed doors. I suspect the same is true for you — because the same is basically true for all of us. No one really knows what kind of mother or father you are except for your children, and they won’t really make the final assessment until years down the road, when they finally go into counseling to figure out why they’re so messed up. (Spoiler alert: it will be because of you.) Some art — not all — eventually suffers the scrutiny of a wider audience, but the majority of the artistic life takes place in a cave.

“You’re good at gymnastics,” Patrick said, then chomped down on a chip.

“Gymnastics?” I cried. “Gymnastics!!!!?”

Let’s be clear: I never once attempted gymnastics. It’s true that I was once, for a very short time, a cheerleader. But he was reaching, and I was very hurt.

As I sat there throwing my one-person pity party, a man came to the table and set down a bowl of chips. Patrick and I have been coming to this particular Mexican joint for fifteen years — and the same person has been delivering chips and bussing tables for all fifteen years. I looked up, thanked him, and instantly felt the hand of God press gently on the open wound of my entitlement. Here I was, angry I’m terrible at pickleball, sad that I have nothing (public) to show for years of artistic work, insecure about my place in the world — and here he was, a man who had been slinging chips at the same restaurant every night for fifteen years. His work is invisible too. His work is thankless. And here he was, completing this same task faithfully and contentedly for more than a decade. We’re all invisible, and God sees us all.

The author Elizabeth Gilbert once said, “Perfectionism is the lie that there’s some kind of rent you have to pay to be here on this earth. It’s like you’re auditioning for a part you already got. You just get to be here.”

As we enter another week — perhaps your kiddos are back to school, or perhaps they’re back at home having picked up some crud or low-grade fever at school — what lie are you letting infiltrate your mind about what you need to accomplish? About who you need to be?

I am Claire. I am really bad at pickleball. I never once tried gymnastics. I’m the okayest-Mom, a decent wife, a loyal friend, a mid-career writer. I make very very good chocolate chip cookies. I am a terrible parker. I love to read. I hate Halloween. I’m not that good at any one thing.

But there’s not shame in that.

A fleet of unimpressive gifts makes for an infinitely interesting life.

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Read: In just a few weeks, Netflix will debut a murder-mystery miniseries starring Nicole Kidman based on the novel The Perfect Couple by the author Elin Hilderbrand. This week, I listened to the novel on Libby (The library app, where you can download free audiobooks!) Summery-murder is not exactly my favorite genre, but it was captivating and propulsive for sure, and I’m curious what kind of treatment it will receive from Netflix.

Purchase: An introductory Chess set from Target.

Recipe: We’ve had a couple of great & easy dinners lately, most of which were pulled together from Trader Joe’s freezer staples. Tonight, it was Basil Pesto on rigatoni pasta plus pre-cooked grilled chicken breasts and zucchini. Kids ate it right up, right after pulling out all the chicken and zucchini.