Once upon a time there was a far away land called the Kingdom of Perfectionism, and I really wanted to become an Honorary Citizen of it. It shouldn’t have been that difficult, really – I knew if I tried really hard I could be almost perfect, but the closer I got to it, the sooner I found another little thing to tweak in my life. Take, for example, the case of my butt.
Modesty aside, my rear has always looked quite good: smooth, round like an apple, sans any dimples, and nicely complementing my waist. People commented on my shape, and I used to shrug my shoulders and reply modestly: “I’m just so lucky! It’s in my genes!”
Which in a way it was – and it wasn’t.
While it is true that most women in my family are curvy, it is also true that my juicy little bottom did not resemble my grandma’s ample derrière at all (a fact that I always failed to mention). How was it possible, then, that the key to a perfect little bottom was only hereditary? Well, because… as an aspiring Perfectionist, I might have helped out those genes a little bit.
My butt stayed whipped in its round place through a strenuous exercise routine, not to mention diet. I knew there was hard work involved, and every time I caught a glimpse of my backside in a mirror I felt so proud – my efforts had paid off! all my coaching clients could be reassured that they were hiring a professional who really looked the part! I was, after all, the living results they could aspire to attain.
However, as luck would have it, just when my citizenship request to the Kingdom of Perfectionism was about to be approved, I decided to go for one more round of coaching training. This time, the course in question was an Eating Psychology Certification and, unknown to me at the time, it would be my one kick in the butt to get the hell out of Perfectionism – fast.
IPE’s training was incredibly thorough and time consuming, which for me meant many days and evenings sitting at my desk and learning. I resented this new paired-down rhythm at first, but as the training progressed and as I learned more about the importance of stress and relaxation, it became clear to me that I needed to re evaluate my priorities and re define the role of food and exercise in my life.
By the time I graduated from IPE my size 4 clothes still fitted, albeit a little tighter – especially in the rear. It didn’t bother me much, until summer came and I slipped my bathing suit on: Gasp! My cute little bum was no longer perfect! Without my permission, my butt had silently acquired a good couple of dimples during the winter, and I didn’t quite know what to make out of that: should I buy a long swimming skort and hide in it? Must I really diet and exercise like crazy to make up for a year of balanced life?
And, if my life was indeed balanced, wouldn’t that mean that everything in my life would be perfect, butt included?
I was honestly shocked.
Many years ago, before I had embarked in my coaching journey, I earned a Masters Degree in Environmental Science (I know, I know… but hang in there, because I’ve actually got a point). One of the main problems that environmentalists encounter, I learned back then, is that it’s difficult to agree on what exactly progress is and what isn’t: for example, is a growing economy a sign of progress? And if so, progress for whom: the stock market, the unemployed, the Amazon forest? Who gets to define what is progress, and who gets to say what is a progress trap?
A progress trap, for those of you who’ve never heard of the term, is something that starts out seeming like improvement or progress, but that actually isn’t. Arguably, nuclear weapons and radioactivity fall into this category (if you think radiation didn’t have a downside, ask Marie Curie).
So, progress traps seem to be good things because they provide great benefits in the short term – but in the long run, they ultimately lead to disaster because they are either harmful or unsustainable.
Fast forward 15 years since I finished that Master and here I am, standing in front of a mirror and pondering about my own definition of progress:
Is attaining a perfect body truly progress, or is it just another progress trap?
Is it possible to have a perfect smooth buttock, and if so, at what price?
Was my apple shaped rear actually sustainable?
Deep down, I knew the answer. My diet and exercising routine felt wonderful for a while, and it did give me the dimple-free bottom that I was so proud of. But let’s face it: whipping my butt in place took most of my time and energy, and I couldn’t keep up with it.
To be honest, I do have good genes. Even though I’m exercising less, my bottom still looks pretty good. But it isn’t perfect, nor do I want it to be anymore: there’s so many things in life that I want to experience, that I need to kick my butt up from its throne and get it to come along with me in this journey.
Imperfect as we both might be we are, after all, making progress together.
