You Don’t Have That Kind of Time

A few Sundays ago, I was sitting in church listening to my pastor, Joe, when he shared a story that immediately struck a chord with me.

It was about Anne Lamott and her friend Pammy, who was dying of cancer.

Anne was getting ready for a date and trying on a dress. She asked Pammy if the dress made her hips look big.

Pammy looked at her and said:

“Annie? I really don’t think you have that kind of time.”

It is funny at first.

And then it is not.

As Joe continued, I suddenly found myself somewhere else.

I was back at Rollins College in Winter Park, an English major with a writing minor, making my way through yet another book on that brick-lined campus beside Lake Virginia.

The book was Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird.

I had read this story before.

Nearly twenty years ago.

But as I sat there listening to it again, I realized something.

The story had not changed.

I had.

Back then, I was reading it as a college student trying to figure out who I was and where I was going.

Now I was hearing it as a business owner, an author, a wife, a friend and, if I am being honest, a recovering perfectionist.

And this time, that one sentence landed differently.

You don’t have that kind of time.

The things we give our time to

I have written before about my tendency toward perfectionism.

For a long time, I thought perfectionism simply meant having high standards.

Doing good work.

Being prepared.

Wanting to get things right.

And there is nothing wrong with any of those things.

But over time, I started to recognize another side of it.

Sometimes the desire to get everything exactly right is not really about excellence.

Sometimes it is about fear.

What will people think?

What if I get it wrong?

What if I disappoint someone?

What if someone disagrees with me?

What if it is not good enough?

Those questions can take up an incredible amount of mental real estate.

And I think that is why Pammy’s words stayed with me.

Because they are not really about a dress.

They are about what we choose to spend our limited time thinking about.

Not all worry is bad

I do not think the answer is to stop caring.

And I certainly do not think we should become flippant about our decisions, our responsibilities or the way our choices affect other people.

Some concern is useful.

It makes us prepare.

It makes us think.

It prompts us to solve a problem, make the call, apologize, ask a better question or have a conversation we have been avoiding.

That kind of concern moves us toward something.

But there is another kind of worry that simply keeps us circling.

We replay the conversation.

We imagine what someone else might be thinking.

We keep polishing something that is already good enough.

We second-guess a decision we have already made.

We focus so intensely on one thing going wrong that our field of vision gets smaller and smaller.

And before long, we can become so myopic about the thing we are worried about that we miss everything else happening around us.

The person sitting across from us.

The opportunity in front of us.

The trip we are on.

The work we are proud of.

The ordinary Tuesday afternoon that we will never get back.

That is where I think the question becomes useful:

Is this concern asking me to do something, or am I simply giving it more of my life?

Perfection has a cost

One thing I have had to learn is that letting go of perfection does not mean lowering my standards.

It means recognizing when the pursuit of “perfect” has stopped making something better and started keeping me stuck.

There is a difference between doing excellent work and trying to make yourself criticism-proof.

Because criticism-proof does not exist.

You can make the thoughtful decision and someone may still disagree.

You can do your best work and someone may still find fault with it.

You can say the right thing and still be misunderstood.

You can prepare as much as possible and still make a mistake.

At some point, the question becomes less about whether you can eliminate every possible negative outcome and more about what that pursuit is costing you.

How much time are you spending replaying something you cannot change?

How much energy are you giving to someone’s opinion that should not carry this much weight?

How many opportunities are you delaying because you do not feel completely ready?

How much life are you missing while trying to get life exactly right?

Same words, different ears

That is the part of Joe’s message I keep coming back to.

I had already read the story.

I knew the line.

But sometimes a lesson has to find us more than once.

At Rollins, I understood it one way.

Nearly twenty years later, I understand it differently.

Maybe that is part of growing up.

We encounter an idea when we are younger, store it somewhere in the back of our minds, and then life gives us enough experience to finally understand what it meant.

I have spent years learning that not every problem deserves the same amount of energy.

Not every opinion deserves the same weight.

Not every decision can be made perfectly.

And not every worry deserves another hour of my life.

That does not mean I stop caring.

It means I try to care more intentionally.

The Mindset Makeover

Since that Sunday, I have found myself coming back to Pammy’s question.

When I am overthinking something:

Do I have that kind of time?

When I am worrying about what someone else might think:

Do I have that kind of time?

When perfectionism tells me something needs one more round, one more adjustment, one more bit of reassurance before I can move forward:

Do I have that kind of time?

Sometimes the answer is yes.

Sometimes there is something I need to fix, prepare for or address.

But sometimes the answer is simply no.

There is nothing left to solve.

There is only more worrying.

And maybe that is the mindset shift.

Not eliminating worry.

Not lowering our standards.

Not becoming indifferent to other people.

But getting better at recognizing what deserves our time, our attention and our energy.

Because none of us knows exactly how much time we get.

That does not have to make us fearful.

It can make us clearer.

Do the work.

Have the conversation.

Listen to the people who have earned your trust.

Fix what you can fix.

Learn from what you get wrong.

Then look up.

Pay attention to the people around you.

Notice the life that is happening while you are busy trying to make everything perfect.

Because some things are worth worrying about.

And some things simply are not.

We don’t have that kind of time.