Scary Close-Reflections For Finding True Intimacyサンプル

Swimming a Little Is Swimming Enough ONE OF THE REASONS I RENT A CABIN WITH A POND is so I could get some exercise. I wanted to get into better shape before I got married. It’s a big pond, large enough for an Olympian to work out if he or she were willing to swim in a circle. It’s true that Betsy likes me how I am, but I do need to lose some weight and I figured swimming an hour or two a day would be enough to get started. The first day I swam I was terribly out of shape. I could only swim hard for ten minutes or so and then had to get out for a break. After about three ten-minute swims I was done. Humbling, for sure. It wasn’t long before I could swim a full workout, but I’d be lying if I said I enjoyed the routine. You’d think I’d be excited to get into shape, but I wasn’t. I don’t like to exercise, but not because it’s painful or tiring. I’ve climbed mountains in Peru and ridden my bike across America. I’m willing. The reason I don’t like exercise is because somewhere, in the deep recesses of my brain I’ve become convinced no amount of work is enough. I never leave a workout satisfied or proud of myself. And for that matter, I never quit a writing session thinking I’ve worked hard enough either. Or a teaching gig or a business meeting or anything else. I’m so bad about this I used to mow my lawn then crawl around on the grass with a pair of scissors, cutting uneven blades of grass. No kidding. I might have a problem. There are really only two things a person can do when they’re that much of a perfectionist. They can either live in the torture and push themselves to excel, or they can quit. I tend to go back and forth between the torture of working too hard and the sloth of quitting. The problem is this: those of us who are never satisfied with our accomplishments secretly believe nobody will love us unless we’re perfect. We don’t think of our flaws as the glue that binds us to the people we love, but they are. Grace only sticks to our imperfections. Those who can’t accept their imperfections can’t accept grace either.