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Twenty years ago, a friend and I completed a 60-mile walk. It was a three-day breast cancer fundraiser organized by the Susan B. Komen Foundation. On the surface it seemed as though it would be challenging, 20 miles a day for 3 days in a row, but nothing we couldn't do. Neither of us considered it overly demanding, physically. We walked from the Wisconsin border to Chicago's Lakeshore Drive. There were thousands of women in all shapes and sizes. Walkers who were undergoing cancer treatment walked beside those who finished treatment years ago. Loved ones walking in memory of someone who helped shape their lives.
If I remember correctly, the tagline for the walk was Race for the Cure. The main point of the walk, back then, was to raise money for cancer research. There were no prizes for first place at the end of this walk. We simply needed to cover 20 miles a day, three days in a row.
My friend and I had different ways to approach this event. What neither of us understood at the time was that the word "race" in the title burrowed into my psyche. Once implanted, I was compelled by inner forces to go as fast as I was physically able. I was still at a point where I needed to prove something. I required outside validation. However, I'm not sure who I needed to prove it to because nobody cared how fast I walked, except perhaps me. I had nothing to measure myself against because I had never walked anything like this before, nor had anyone I knew. My friend wanted us to take the three days as a walking vacation. A time when we could deepen our relationship. Catch up our lives. Enjoy the scenery.
In the end, I did it my way, and she did it her way. And, while our friendship wasn't negatively impacted over the long run, it was strained a bit for a short time after that walk. Years later, I realized how much I regretted not hearing what she was trying to teach me. I don't even know for sure if she knew. But one day I got it. Somewhere along the line, I stopped trying to prove how good I was. I realized I didn't need to be perfect, or better than others. All I ever needed was the approval of one -- me. I just needed to do me.
I've since thought of that walk and how it could've gone. Had I taken my time and walked with my friend, perhaps we could have even spread more awareness of the importance of monthly self-exams, raised more funds for research along the way, held conversations with other women, or had a delightful picnic together along the lakeshore. Instead, I raced through till the end of each day, got to camp, often before my friend, and sat around with nothing to do because nothing was planned. It seems I was the only one who took the race part to heart. I had completely missed the point.
You see, I'm not fat, but I'm not skinny. I'm not brilliant, yet I'm not dumb. I am not off-the-wall-happy all the time, but I'm not depressed either. I'm not tall and I'm not unusually short. I'm average. And I'm okay with that. I used to dislike being average. For most of my life, I've disliked the average. But what is wrong with average? I still shine in my uniqueness. I finally like myself, regardless of whether the person next to me likes me. And if I want to improve on something about me? I work to change it. If I can't change it, I change how I think about it.
Today, I celebrate contentedness and the everydayness of life. I work to focus on something other than measuring my accomplishments against others. I revel in time spent with people and in nature. I aim for inner peace with who I am and what I can do. Sure, we all want to make parts of our lives better, but let's stop focusing on the faults and outdoing our neighbor. Let's change the behavior, together.
This holiday season, let go of what you couldn't do or buy, and step back and give yourself a slow nod of approval for all you've done. This month, appreciate you. And as people all around you are setting New Year's goals, write yourself a postcard of support and confirmation that you are enough. Place it to find when you need it if you fall into the pit called external validation. Vow to stop trying to live up to society's comparative lens. Life isn't a race. Instead, give yourself gentle self-hugs of appreciation for who you are and what you can do.
Lesslee Dort is a board-certified patient advocate who firmly believes knowledge is power when it comes to being in control of one's health. She spends her days at Friends Together helping others navigate their health care. Reach Lesslee via email at regardingthejourney@lesslee.com. Read her here the third Thursday of each month.