Perfection is the enemy of our humanity.

Lately, I’ve been wondering if I can do it all, be creative enough, and keep it together, at least until I’ve gotten off the phone with the last client.  Can I be wise enough, add enough value, be charming enough, be quick-witted enough, be compassionate enough in the face of who I’m supposed to be each day–mom, wife, business owner, consultant, coach, friend, sister, daughter, colleague, partner? I’m not sure.

What I do know is that I can be transparent enough. And maybe that’s all I need to do.

Yesterday, I was discombobulated, off kilter. I couldn’t get my early morning fix of email because the new wireless card in my laptop was incompatible with our new home router, bought more to satisfy my teenage son’s gaming addiction than to make me more efficient. (BTW–This is the price of getting technology on sale at a local computer store going out of business. I found out the driver software was over 3 years old. The updated version, the one that I had to download from the manufacturer’s website, had been available since 2005.)

After a holiday weekend, my sons and I were running late in getting out the door to school and a client meeting.  Never mind that I barely got a piece of toast for breakfast, had to skip the orange juice, couldn’t figure out what to wear until the last minute, and my new haircut vaguely resembled Bozo the Clown after going to sleep with it slightly damp the night before.

I let the kids out of the car a half mile from school, to avoid the long lines in the drop off area. It was a matter of slowing down by the side of the road, yelling, "Get ready to get out!" and then coming to a brief stop. My sons scrambled out of the back seat, as if they had been part of a fire drill. They had two minutes to high tail it through a snowy field before being counted as tardy.   

It didn’t help that I was driving my husband’s car, a 1991 Volvo station wagon with over 300,000 miles, a sticky stick shift, and a radio that no longer works. Mine was in the shop with a flat tire. Only at the last minute did I remember to slow down in the speed trap, where I had gotten a ticket last week.

I barely made it to a client appointment, cross town, through rush hour traffic. I cursed everytime I had to shift.  I explained to the client that I couldn’t take on a job if they wanted to hire me but not my partner, because they were buying the DNA of our company, not me. I had been espousing this idea of building a business that didn’t depend on me for several months.  Now I had to walk my talk.

Change sucks, doesn’t it?

Returning back to the home office, fifteen minutes late for a coaching call, I apologized to my client. I confessed that this was probably a day when I shouldn’t be coaching. She confessed that this was probably a day when she shouldn’t be coached. Her Gremlins were eating her for lunch. Mine had eaten me for breakfast.

Later in the day, I talked with a friend who is having financial troubles. And out of my mouth popped the words that I needed to hear all day.

"You are not your situation."

It was that simple. I could be late for appointments, not walk my talk, hate change, get speeding tickets, and have bad hair days. And I am not my situation.

For the last week, I’ve wanted to call friends who do seem to have it all together, who are creative enough and compassionate enough and wise enough, to get their advice on how I’ve been feeling. But now I know. They are not their situation either. None of us are.

It’s 5am and I’ve been up since 1:30am, after having fallen asleep at 8pm last night. In the wee hours of the morning, the truth comes out.

P.S. If you like the title of this post, thank my brilliant coach, Shirley Anderson. It’s a saying that I’ve come to know and love.

P.P.S. I’m told by my equally brilliant brother that Jerry Garcia, from the Grateful Dead, actually coined the phrase, "We are all bozos on the same bus."  So thanks, Jerry, wherever you are.