Do-Goodism, Reimagined?

“Hahahahaha, don’t make me laugh! You did your best? What does that even mean?” he said.
“That I really did everything I could to keep working,” I answered meekly.
“And that’s your definition of doing your best? Come on, give me a break!”

Last Tuesday, I visited a "socially conscious organization active in the field of contemporary art" for the very first time. It’s a place that is open three afternoons a week, where you can just walk in and out whenever you please, and where you can let your wildest creative impulses run free. There’s a ton of material available, from oil paints to oil pastels, and from crochet hooks to scraps of fabric. You can let your artistic self unfold in complete openness and freedom. Sounds great, right? Well, the artistic part was great. I loved having so many materials at my disposal. It felt like a playground for the "big kids," even though my own creativity is still stuck in the toddler ball pit stage. I didn’t even know how to use most of the supplies, so I just enjoyed being there, watching a whole new world open up in front of me.

Unfortunately, I had a completely different feeling about the people there. It’s a social organization, meaning most of the visitors have mental health vulnerabilities or have fallen through the cracks of society’s safety net. It was a motley crew of people, each one more eccentric than the last. Opinions and judgments about society as a whole were flying in every direction. Because it was my first time, most of them really made an effort to strike up a conversation with me, which I truly appreciated. The guy who seemed to run the place asked about my story—how long I’d been out of work, and so on. I briefly explained that I used to be a teacher, but that I just couldn't manage to work anymore. I told him that the doctors who signed me off on disability told me I had done my best, and that they hoped I would ever find some quality of life. Usually, when I share that story, people respond with empathy and have plenty of (rightfully deserved!) kind words for those understanding doctors. But this man reacted completely differently: he straight-up started laughing at me. I was absolutely flabbergasted!

“Excuse me?” I continued, “What’s so wrong with doing your best? What would you have done?”
“Nothing wrong with doing your best,” he replied, “but you put your best into the wrong things. You did your best to keep working, to keep spinning in the wheel of a society that’s moving way too fast. Am I right? Why not do your best at being happy? At connecting with yourself, at letting your creative soul unfold? At living life the way you need it?”

Well, he had me there. I couldn't deny that he had a point, even if it was delivered rather bluntly (especially considering we’d known each other for less than fifteen minutes). I really had always done my best. Always. In elementary school, I did my best to get good grades just so I could get a sticker or a stamp on my tests and assignments. By the end of elementary school, it became clear that good grades meant you were expected to go down the highest academic track in high school. But when they explained the different tracks to us—ranging from strictly academic to vocational—the academic route looked brutally boring to me, and I wanted no part of it. The vocational track, on the other hand—specifically the Health and Nutrition program—sounded amazing to me. The idea of learning how to cook, sew, and crochet, and later using those skills during internships at daycares or nursing homes, seemed so incredibly cool. I was a huge fan. Unfortunately, the school wouldn't allow me to go that route: my grades were simply too high. If only I hadn't tried so hard... So, I compromised and chose the technical track, which at least kept four hours of cooking on my weekly schedule. The other subjects were tough on me, though—especially chemistry, physics, lab work, and biology. I absolutely hated those classes, but like a true, dutiful "do-gooder," I gave it my absolute all. Every single afternoon, I went to tutoring at school just to grasp the material. Fortunately, I did my best (once again!) to do exactly what was expected of me, which allowed me to graduate and go to college (which, to be fair, I am very glad I did now!). Initially, I wanted to become a kindergarten teacher, but I didn't believe I was creative enough. Quite funny, considering that six years earlier I fully believed I could sew and crochet. Anyway, because being a kindergarten teacher required too many creative skills I thought I lacked, I decided to become an elementary school teacher instead. A little bit of creativity, writing papers, and a lot of studying. And that was something I actually could do: assignments, exams, cramming, cramming, and more cramming.

But I was tired during my school years. Tired and sick all the time. At the end of every exam period, I would come down with strep throat. Fortunately, our mom always made us go to bed early, because I honestly don't know how I would have survived otherwise... I worked, I slaved, I fought, and I never, ever stopped doing my best. Tired or not, sick or not: keep pushing, keep grinding, keep doing your best. Always doing my best. Terrified of not feeling good enough, and terrified that others would think the same.

I was a model student, and later, a model teacher. But I wasn't connected to myself, and I lost my way. I was exactly like the rodents in the short film Happiness. Working hard, trying to find relaxation, escaping, and then crashing hard—so, so hard. In the end, it was my downfall, all that "doing my best." I was completely, utterly, totally spent. Beyond burnt out.

That man from yesterday was right. Why didn’t I do my best to be connected with myself? To be happy and find peace within? To live with trust, gentleness, and calm? The answer is: because it’s terrifying. It is so much harder to look deep inside yourself than to run around like a chicken with its head cut off. It’s harder to admit that my value lies in who I am, rather than what I do. But also: because that’s just not how society works. Aren't you supposed to work a demanding job, maintain a massive circle of friends, hit the gym, frequent cozy coffee shops, and still make time for family dinners every single week? Everyone else is running the rat race, so why shouldn't I? I’m not weak, am I?!

Today, I know the answer: no, I am not weak. And I’m not "different." I am connected to myself, and I do my best to listen to the needs of my body and mind. And that is the kind of "doing my best" I gladly choose, the kind of effort I truly want to put in. It’s not always easy, but it’s always worth it.

How about you? Do you manage to keep up with the relentless rhythm of work, kids, hobbies, friends, and everything else life is "supposed" to be about? If so, how do you do it? What are your ways to find peace? Or, if you’re more like me—if you spent years doing your best the "other" way until you just couldn't do it anymore—what is life like for you now? Do you live differently today than you used to? Please feel free to share your thoughts in the comments below. I would truly love to hear how others navigate their lives and learn about your experiences. Thank you so much!