I’m a perfectionist. I don’t usually say this out loud, but there’s a strong pull in me to be the best at everything I do. As a lifelong Catholic, I was taught from a young age that our lives are a gift meant to be given back to God by giving to others — and even that is something I want to be the best at. I’d like to be known as the kindest acquaintance and the most thoughtful relative and the most generous friend.
My desire for perfection (and the competitive streak that comes with it) is also the reason I don’t like being in debt. Owing someone something means that I’m less than perfect, and I don’t want to let myself be vulnerable in that way. If I’m being honest, I even like the idea of other people owing me. But of course, generosity born of pride is not generosity at all.
It’s also not much of a way to live. It forgets that we all owe people all the time. None of us would be who we are without countless supporters and influences. People probably owe us all the time, too, in ways we don’t even realize. We’re not standalone islands; we’re part of a vast network of dynamic relationships that make up what it means to be human.
American individualism would have us believe that we can forge our own paths, that we are at our best when we are self-sufficient. But this misses an important, life-giving truth: that we are created for community. We are at our best not when we are alone but when we are together.
Getting married and having children showed me this more than anything else. These life events pushed me up against my limits in new ways. I realized early on in my marriage that there’s no use in trying to achieve a 50/50 split of all that goes into making up a life together — and you’ll make yourselves crazy if you try. When it came to motherhood, there was simply too much to do, and my once-stalwart capacities had been thinned by the challenges of pregnancy and birth.
