Recently I spent time with Mary Oliver’s poem, Wild Geese. It opens with the line, “You don’t have to be good.” I immediately took issue with it. You see, I have to be good. I have standards for my work, for my life and, though I don’t always perform to those standards, I strive to be good. Winding myself up in a mini-snit, I realized,
Having to be good often gets me in trouble.
I am not what I do. Tasks can be performed by anyone. Tasks also come with a quality standard. Be they at work, at home, or elsewhere, we perform tasks and they meet the need (satisfactory), exceed the need (excellent), or don’t meet the need (unsatisfactory). Tasks have standards.
There is no standard for being.
Oliver’s poem reminds me that I don’t have to be good. There is no good being, only surrender. I surrender myself like a trusting pet, lying on my back, my soft, furry tummy exposed and vulnerable. And I give myself to life: loving what I love, no excuses, no explanations, no expectations, and no regrets.
Being. Occupying my “place in the family of things.” Not even claiming or holding that place because once someone else occupied it and eventually I’ll need to let it go to another.
Just being – completely, openly, honestly, authentically, humbly…being.
I sigh. And, as usual, when faced with a realization that now seems obvious yet still gives me pause, I mutter to myself,
“Well, I’ll be.”
Quote
Oft expectation fails, and most oft there where most it promises. Shakespeare
Web
Enjoy Mary Oliver’s poem, Wild Geese (read it now)
I am not what I do. Tasks can be performed by anyone. Tasks also come with a quality standard. Be they at work, at home, or elsewhere, we perform tasks and they meet the need (satisfactory), exceed the need (excellent), or don’t meet the need (unsatisfactory). Tasks have standards.
There is no standard for being.
Oliver’s poem reminds me that I don’t have to be good. There is no good being, only surrender. I surrender myself like a trusting pet, lying on my back, my soft, furry tummy exposed and vulnerable. And I give myself to life: loving what I love, no excuses, no explanations, no expectations, and no regrets.
Being. Occupying my “place in the family of things.” Not even claiming or holding that place because once someone else occupied it and eventually I’ll need to let it go to another.
Just being – completely, openly, honestly, authentically, humbly…being.
I sigh. And, as usual, when faced with a realization that now seems obvious yet still gives me pause, I mutter to myself,
“Well, I’ll be.”
Quote
Oft expectation fails, and most oft there where most it promises. Shakespeare
Web
Enjoy Mary Oliver’s poem, Wild Geese (read it now)
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