Changing Definitions Of What's "Best"

Allowing our 'best' to evolve and grow as we do, giving space to seasons of rest and seasons of effort.

Gentle frost dominated the glistening hillsides;

soft as a feather and daunting as a coming storm, lighting every blade of grass and willowy wheat. The dawn sunlight, still hovering below the horizon, flickered and danced on the landscape in a yellow-blue glow, as J and I made the arduous trek uphill. We’ve taken to a three mile walk on weekend mornings, right after waking up, where we can talk and spend a few precious minutes together. Heating our bodies against impending fall, igniting our lungs and exposed fingertips with the cold air, dually in preparation for the cold that will only increase, and for our lives at large. It’s a time of contemplation and conversational exploration of what we’re doing this season, which of our seeds we hope are safely hibernating under the stiffening soil till spring. It’s our time together to make blood pump, intellectually as much as physically. It’s not easy; waking up to the dark and knowing the temperature outside will bite. But it’s worth it to share these quiet mornings as newlyweds before the busy day hits and keeps on hitting.

Last fall, one of J’s many morning mantras singed across a large whiteboard in our living room, where we could both see it every day, first thing. It read, in big orange letters:

“Your best is what’s best.”

Last year was a year of learning to trust himself, his decisions, his intuition, his chosen way of leading, and what felt right for him.

Now, a year later, ‘best’ looks very different. Step after step through on our morning walk, the first mile of which is quietly but unforgivingly uphill, we decide that even though only two months ago, ‘best’ meant running this entire grueling path at dawn as quickly as possible, today it means walking it. ‘Best’ used to mean making it to the top of every slope on the route without stopping, aiming to finish the entire 3 miles without a single pause to catch our breath. Not anymore.

‘Best’ has changed not in definition, but in execution. For my sake, it means slowing down, not pushing my body to its physical limits with caffeine and intense 2-hour workouts first thing in the morning. Three days before our wedding, it meant throwing out my scale so that I could enjoy our day without a number in my head (I’ve written on living with an eating disorder, read more in previous posts).

J’s ‘best’ means choosing new recruits for his team, ones that will work very closely with him on a daily basis. ‘Best’ includes the task of reading and judging complete strangers in interviews to decide who can be a good and positive leader, set a good example and raise team morale. It means giving even more mentorship to his staff, all while still working toward his own career growth.

Mile two, the slope has only briefly declined for a small downhill. The sun is beginning to make an entrance. Elk break up the eyeline of the hill, grazing on frozen greens. The bull of the pack stands tall, watching us to protect his herd, while J lets his ideas and hopes fall out of his mouth, out of order.

This is my favorite part of the walk; when our talking becomes stream-of-consciousness. He gets to hear me ramble about my writing career, struggles in my current job, or ways I’m approaching my body. I get to hear his thoughts tumble around in his head, jumping from one team member to another, from one goal of the season to one of the last, here and there while he works out the kinks. Most of the time, we lead ourselves to our own conclusions and decisions. But each other’s thoughtful questions and patient presence helps us get there; each other’s listening without judgment helps us hear ourselves, and what it is we’re actually trying to say.

“So I’m not sure what to do about that, yet,” he finishes.

“Your best is all you can do.” I offer. His face remains expressionless. I haven’t helped.

“Your ‘best’ is just the best you can, with what you have, where you are.” I offer.

“Right,” he says, before going quiet. “The best with what I have, where I am.”

In so many seasons of life, even ones that seem the same as this time last year, we must allow our definitions of our selves, our standards, and our language to change. For some, like my beloved, ‘best’ means more effort. Yet walking right beside him, ‘best’ means less effort, less striving, less proving for me. But in every moment, in every age, ‘best’ should so rarely mean the best compared to others. The best compared to arbitrary standards, like those set by society or celebrity. ‘Best’ when it comes to ourselves should be measured in the moment. Did we do our best with the energy reserve we had left? Did we do our best with only the information we had at the time? Did we allow ‘best’ to be individual to us in the moment, instead of using it to punish ourselves with our own hindsight?