As the year winds down, the year-end reviews begin. Perhaps these are a formal part of your life — something that happens at work or at school. Or perhaps they are more casual and even more time-consuming: they are a dialogue with yourself inside your head, evaluating and judging, comparing and maybe even complaining.
We live in a culture that values outcomes. We like the degree, the title, the salary, the gold star, the like button. We are all about an outward sign of success. Regardless of the time of year, most of us constantly evaluate our outcomes. How often do we evaluate the process?
Certainly, we have the least control over outcomes. That’s not the part that is in our domain. It’s subject to other people’s biases, arbitrary algorithms, social winds of change, even the weather. Recently, I helped get ready for an outdoor wedding. As the flood waters rose throughout the day, we had very few options. Beautifully set tables previously arranged according to a careful floor plan were lifted and carried to higher ground inside the tent. If the highest ground happened to be the dance floor? So be it. It no longer looked like a magazine spread. But as the river rose all day, as the water sloshed over the tops of boots, and we lost power, and boxes stored under staging tables began to float away on pallets, there was joy. We were serving with gladness, and we never lost sight of the privilege it is to celebrate a new family.
By the end of the evening, the water in the tent was knee-high and they were dancing in the street (where the water was “only” ankle-high). But they danced. They had no power over the rushing river. They absolutely could choose to dance in the rain. It was a muddy, messy, beautiful celebration.
We have control over the process.
Not only do we have control; it’s our responsibility. When we shift our focus from the outcome— how something turned out, how it appeared — to the process — how we showed up, how we behaved — it’s very empowering. It’s also sanctifying.
What does it look like to be careful stewards of the process?
It looks like being fully present and doing your best.
If you’re a perfectionist or you have very high exacting standards for yourself, you hear “do your best” and expect to give 150 percent, bend yourself into a pretzel, never sleep, and, inevitably, burn out. You sprint from start to finish, fail to care for yourself properly, and end up in an exhausted heap, with nothing left to give.
When you do your reasonable best — your sustainable best — cognizant of the things outside your locus of control, you can expect to be able to keep on keeping on with dignity and grace despite the circumstances you face. What is your sustainable best?
It might be 85 percent instead of 150 percent. It’s still an effort you can be proud of, but it’s one you can commit to while maintaining a state of balance. Your definition of “your best” changes from sacrificing your physical being and compromising your kindness toward others to a well-rounded best where you’re getting enough sleep, you’re whole and intact, you’re speaking with a smile and responding thoughtfully, you’re pouring from a full cup — but you’re still pouring. You’re contributing quality and utilizing your talents without the charred edges. Charity prevails. That’s the sweet spot of doing your best.
As we head into a busy time of year and into a time where we naturally review our performances, as you meet the needs of the revolving door of kids’ activities, the difficult visit with your mother, your husband who is struggling through a hard season, the friend who is grieving, do your sustainable best.
And what about outcomes? I think you’ll find that the outcomes will be fine, good, even excellent. And the best part of all? I think you’ll find that you are much happier to live with the person you are when you do your sustainable best.
Foss, whose website is takeupandread.org, writes from Connecticut.
