“If a thing’s worth doing, it’s worth doing . . .” The voice on the radio paused. I could almost hear my mother’s voice finish the sentence, “. . . well.” The principle was so ingrained in my thinking that even the speaker’s expectant pause didn’t alert me to the possibility of a different ending.
In a split second I saw my mother helping me learn to set the table when I was little taller than the red-checkered tabletop. At our house, setting the table was not a job for amateurs. Utensils couldn’t be tossed near a plate. No matter how simple the fare, the table was set properly. Mom showed me, coached me, and praised a job well done.
Later, reading, writing, and ‘rithmetic teachers entrenched the do-it-well concept more deeply into my psyche. The harder I worked, the better the grades. Bosses cheered my penchant to do each task well. Pay raises followed. Organizations where I volunteered congratulated me for projects completed well.
The voice on the radio broke into my thoughts. “If a thing’s worth doing, it’s worth doing . . . badly.”
Badly? BADLY? That was all wrong. It went against everything society had taught me. But it startled me into listening.
The speaker asked questions like: Have you considered writing the sponsor of a violent or indecent television program . . . but you didn’t have the perfect words at that moment? How many times have you thought you should write a letter to your representative in Congress, but you didn’t have time to do it really well right then? So you put if off until later . . . and it never got done. Have you wanted to write a note of congratulations, condolence, or just-thinking-of-you, but put if off because you didn’t have just the right wording in mind yet?
This unknown-to-me speaker seemed to be reading my mind and noting my progress on worthwhile goals. I’d thought of writing letters on a plethora of political issues. But I needed to get one more bit of information to make my viewpoint convincing. Or I needed to brush up on an issue. Or I . . .
Life was sometimes a blur. Too often, I simply didn’t get around to organizing my thoughts well enough to write the masterpiece that would swing my senator to my way of thinking.
Often I’d thought of dropping a note to someone who mended slowly from a catastrophic illness, to a friend who struggled months after her husband’s death, to a teacher who’d handled a sensitive issue gracefully, to an acquaintance who’d tackled a tough situation with persistence, to a teenager I’d seen display kindness. I didn’t intend to procrastinate. But I didn’t have the perfect card on hand. Or I didn’t have the perfect wording in mind.
So what?
Would my friend rather have a masterpiece in six weeks or a simple reminder that someone cares . . . now? An e-mail that says, “Vote ‘no’ on . . .” would accomplish more than a scholarly treatise a month after the vote.
Yes, some things should be done well—very well. But I may need to stop, to clear my focus, to decide which things simply need to be done now. And some, if they’re worth doing at all, are worth doing . . . even badly.
What one thing could you do today that doesn’t need to be done “perfectly”–just needs to be done?
