A Missed Countdown


A Missed Countdown

We talk often about the dangers of pursuing perfection. How chasing it usually leads to disappointment. How it sets us up to feel like we are always falling short. I say this to others regularly. I believe it. And yet, I rarely practice it.

Why?

Because perfection is bred into many of us. It is reinforced quietly and consistently. Through expectations. Through praise. Through what gets noticed and what does not. So even when we know better, we still reach for it. Almost instinctively.

This year, New Year’s Eve was small. Just me, my wife, my mother-in-law, and my sister-in-law. We were watching the final episode of Stranger Things, and I realized it would run past midnight. In typical fashion, I prepared. I set a timer for ten minutes before the new year so I could get ready.

When the timer went off, I grabbed the champagne and glasses and came back to the room. All that was left was turning on Channel 7 so we could count down with the rest of Chicago. Simple enough. Or so I thought.

I opened app after app. Nothing. Confused, then frustrated. This is a channel we watch every morning. Why could I not find it now? My search became frantic. I could feel my stress rising as the seconds slipped away.

And then it happened.

The countdown passed.

We missed it.

I shared this with the family, feeling defeated. They responded by celebrating anyway. Hugs. Smiles. Happy New Year wishes. No one seemed bothered. No one cared.

I did.

I was distracted by what did not happen. By what I had pictured in my head and failed to execute. We did not count down together. We did not toast at the exact moment. I had failed at something that mattered to me.

But standing there, watching everyone else celebrate, I realized I had a choice.

I could sit in disappointment. Or I could join them.

I remember thinking about tone. About what this moment meant. Was this how the year would start? Another year of chasing what I believed was important. Another year of near-constant regret over what I did not accomplish. Another year of wanting more. Bigger. Better.

Then another thought surfaced.

What if the tone could be different?

What if some of the things I chase are not as important as I make them? What if authentic connection matters more than performative moments? What if being present matters more than getting it right?

I chose to celebrate.

The next day, we attempted our annual New Year’s Day bowling outing. As usual, it started in chaos. Poor planning. Friction. My attempts to organize things only made it worse. Eventually, that same voice from the night before showed up again. So I stopped trying to fix it.

That decision was uncomfortable.

At one point, I was sitting quietly in the room, doing nothing, which understandably worried my wife. She thought I was upset. I was not. I was just sitting in the unfamiliar space of not managing everything.

We went bowling. And it was fine. More than fine. My second game was a 181. I even bowled a turkey. Three strikes in a row.

This approach does not apply to every decision. Nor should it. But it reminded me of a plaque my grandparents had in their kitchen. A phrase I also have tattooed on my body.

Serenity. Courage. Wisdom.

I have plenty of courage to address what I can change. Sometimes even what I cannot. But I struggle with serenity. With accepting what is outside my control. And often, with the wisdom to tell the difference.

This year, I want to work on that.

---

Where might you be chasing a version of “right” that is costing you presence? And what might change if you loosened your grip, even just a little?

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