At work, at home, with our kids, with our health regimes and our multi-tasking.
In these lofty aspirations there always hides a corner of doubt. Of shame. Of embarrassment. Like we are proud of what we did — at the time — yet now have readdressed the moment of pride and find ourselves wanting.
I am proud of my Angel Tears.
I think they’re pretty, dazzling, delicate, and unique.
But now that I’ve had my first sales round and am working on updating my product and my presentation, I have found that I packed up some that were, shall we say, less than perfect.
No big deal. People would have bought them and thought them pretty, dazzling, delicate, and unique. But what I saw was sloppy work.
Glue drips. Crooked matchups. Too long a string on this one, unclipped string on this other one. By themselves, none of them will cause bridges to collapse or tornadoes to form.
But I’m disappointed in myself. In my sloppiness. In the carefree and sometimes careless way I packaged some of my Tears to go.
I’d like to think I picked the best ones for display and sale my last art fair. I know I did look closely at every one I hung, every one I sold.
But those others —
I am on a campaign to inspect everything that’s left over. Every Tear that was wrapped. Every color that was chosen.
And I’m going to pull out every one that is sub par. Every one.
Do we really give our best, our all, when we say we do? Can we honestly say we haven’t rushed through something just to get to the end and get it over with?
Does giving our best take too much time and effort?
I suppose if this is the worst thing I’ve done in my life I can go to the pearly gates fairly guilt free.
But my sloppiness has taken its toll. In a good way.
From now on I am going to take my time — I mean really take my time — to make sure every Angel Tear looks like it came from an angel.
I know my customers will feel better — and so will I.