Firsts.

Those who know me consider me an "over achiever." But those who really know me, know that I do well at what I attempt and only attempt that which I know I can do well.

Did you catch that? Most of my success rests in the fact that I don't take a lot of risks. Overall, I'd say it's a pretty decent plan. It leaves you feeling competent. You never have to put yourself out there. You get good results.

And that's all that matters, right?

Er, I guess you could say, well, that's all that used to matter. This whole homestead adventure has gifted me ample opportunities to attempt new things at a pace so rapid I forgot to be cautious. In fact, in the past 4 months, I have done more new things than I usually allow myself to try in 5 years. In case you are wondering, yes, I do treat "new things" like a controlled substance." Don't all risky things require regulation?

Since January I have:

Purchased a wood stove.

Stacked wood.

Split my own firewood. (AKA used an axe.)

Started a fire.


Driven a stick-shift. (Okay, practiced. I'm nowhere near road ready just yet.)

Driven a truck.

Gone to the Dump.

Invited the neighbors (E&J) over without cleaning the house first.

Killed an animal (well, I was there at least)

Ate an animal I killed (see aforementioned disclaimer)

Used a fire extinguisher.
  
Noisily played in the front yard with Mr. Bee AND intentionally didn't worry about how we appeared to our quietly meditating neighbor next door.


Mowed the lawn.


Installed flooring.

Made a habit of socializing with strangers.


Spoke in Spanish to a native-speaker without [completely] panicking.

Hosted a family gathering

Shared a cookie baking failure with coworkers who somehow still ate 3/4 of them?
(Note: This is more of a reflection on my coworker's ability to consume indiscrimnately vs. the quality of my failure.)


All of these activities were brand new to me. For most of them, they were so different from the intellectual activities I've traditionally pursued that I had no way of judging whether I'd be successful. Some of these were things I told myself I'd never do, things that didn't fit with my own (or others') definition of me. Now, I'm beginning to feel that any definition of self must be a working definition. And, let's be honest, some of my attempts were more successful than others. You should have seen my first park job with that massive truck or the artistic pattern of cut and uncut grass I left in our front yard.

Doing these things for the first time was scary but those fears were subdued with the idea that practice makes perfect. "This is my first time," I said to my self-conscious ego, "next time will be better. And at some point I will come to master each and every activity." That may even be in line with the wisdom and comfort you, dear reader, would be quick to offer me too. Before you do, and before I buy into it, however, I beg us both to reconsider.

Is that the point? To do things and have them done [extremely] well?

Sometimes.

But what about doing it just because you have to, like splitting firewood? Does how well you do the task matter then?

What about when the task itself requires no precision? When it doesn't matter how good of a job you do, just that it gets done? Like using a fire-extninguisher?

Or what about when you really, really want to communicate with the neighbor down the road and don't have time to perfect your accent? Or even review your verb tenses and basic vocab? Is communiating at all better than silence until you can take a refresher course and come back 6 months later with approprite conversational skills?

What if, regardless of how hard you try, you'll never be Martha Stewart but you still want to hold an annual Easter Egg hunt for the little ones?

The idea that practice makes perfect is at best unnecessary in most situations and at worst an illusion. My hope instead, is that practice will make me comfortable with the imperfection that is inevitable in life, let alone when trying new things.