perfectionism

For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been talking to friends about perfectionism and what a soul suck it is. 

Recently, when I saw a friend spinning out of control, I sent her a “You’ve got this” text—which she promptly corrected for grammar and punctuation. So… I recognize it takes many decades and a ton of face falling before it REALLY sinks in.

Back in 2013 when I first started blogging I was too stupid to realize that anyone would ever read it, so I’d write my face off and press “Post”—spelling and grammar be damned. My compulsion to just get the words out overrode my shame.

So, I guess that was another time when I discovered that MY inner perfectionist had FINALLY left the building.

What about you? Do you freeze when faced with creating something that may not be “perfect?”

I say “Fuck it! Just do it!” (Sorry Nike.) Anyway…

Here’s an old post that explains my thought process on this very subject.
Carry on,
xox

Ah, perfectionism—you rat-bastard.

You are the behind the scenes ruin-er of every event.
You are the “I told you so” inside every mistake.
You are the “It could have been better, you should be thinner, I’m a freak, a fake and a fraud” whispered in my ear at the end of every day.

In short, you are the cause of so much grief.

I’m on to you, Perfection. Like a 22-inch waist, a man who asks for directions, and delicious vegan cheese—you are literally impossible—a myth and an illusion.

Perfectionism, you started for me in childhood.
The dolls lined up perfectly on the shelf, school papers stacked in neat piles, worn thin by rigorous erasing.

Perfectionism, you sabotaged my joy.
You’re a punk. You steal Joy’s lunch money and gives it a wedgie. I see you, Perfectionism, hanging out with those two thugs, anxiety and shame.

Perfectionism, you stifled my creativity.
I know you two cannot possibly co-exist because creativity is messy, I don’t care what anyone says. When you’re in the flow, you can just throw perfect punctuation and grammar to the wind.

Have you ever seen a painter’s studio when they are creating? It is a catastrophe! There is shit everywhere – Empty coffee cups, brushes and tubes of paint in heaps, tarps, stacks of ideas, even some paint on the ceiling (?).

I know you Perfectionism. You would never be caught dead in the swirling vortex of creativity—it might mess up your perfect hair!

When I take perfectionism to a meeting well, yeah, things don’t go well.
It is the bully in the room, taunting me with thoughts of inferiority, constantly assuring me that I’m not good enough (as if I needed the reminder.)
Work harder, be better, PROVE YOUR WORTH, it sneers.

It is my belief that perfectionism is complicit in every nervous breakdown. Most especially, the ones suffered during the holidays.

Listen, I can speak to this with authority.

I am a semi-retired perfectionist.
It started to wane when I got married again. Perfectionism doesn’t compromise, and compromise is to relationships what singing is to musicals. Imperative.

My perfectionism’s exact time of death occurred when we decided to live in our house during a remodel.
Any last vestiges that remained died, (along with the tiny bit of modesty I possessed.)
Residing in so much chaos, dirt, and destruction; I can remember wiping 4-5 inches of plaster and drywall dust off random surfaces in order to sit and drink the coffee we made in the bathroom. For long stretches, the refrigerator was in the dining room and we were sleeping in the garage.

It got so bad I actually started to throw random trash (gum wrappers, receipts) on the floor, fuck it, what’s the use, it’s a disaster, I’d tell myself. The upside was that I’d never in my life felt so FREE! So I ran with it, and I haven’t looked back!

Living in a construction zone is like aversion therapy for perfectionists.

Take off that twenty-ton shield and fly! Or at least trot toward your goals.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not completely void of my perfectionist tendencies. They torture me now when I walk down the street. No longer can I just stroll along haplessly enjoying my surroundings like I did before I turned fifty.

Nope. I worry about my gut. Is it sucked in all the way? Are my thighs going to start a small friction fire inside my jeans? What the hell are my boobs doing and are my shoulders up around my ears causing me to look like I’m doing a Quasimodo impression?

Oh well, old habits die hard.

Maybe you want to talk about how you kicked perfectionism’s ass, or how you’re still struggling? Either way, I’d love to hear about it in the comments below. Don’t be shy. It doesn’t have to be perfect. 😉

Xox

Hey guys,
I was going to write about this very subject. About belonging to a perfectly imperfect tribe, the useless pursuit of perfection, the messiness of life, and the complete and utter lack of balance I’m able to maintain in my own. Fuck you balance.

No…I’m not bitter.

But as usual, someone has beat me to it. And not just anyone, Elizabeth Gilbert.

That happens a lot. The same topics being talked about at the exact same time. I often wake up to find that several other writers, independently of each other, even on opposite sides of the world, have written exactly what my blog is about that day.

Not to get all quantum physics on you but it is my belief that an idea emerges from the inspirational soup and circles around. Sometimes only one person picks it up (Steve Jobs), and sometimes many do.

So, here is Liz Gilbert’s take on this topic. And I think she wrote just about the best sentence in all of English literature, “so, is that the person you would call in the middle of night when your life looks like a DROPPED PIE…?”

Right? #todaymylifelookslikeadroppedpie

Carry on,
xox

Dear Ones:

An Instagram friend named Jennifer Orkin Lewis (@augustwren) made this image of one of my quotes…and I think it’s so lovely!
I always talk about embracing the “glorious mess” whenever people ask me questions about how to find “balance”
in this crazy world. Friends, listen to me — I gave up on finding balance a long, long time ago. That ship has sailed, and I ain’t on it.

And seriously, guys, do you know ANYONE who lives their life in perfect and constant balance? And if you did know such a person, would you want to be her friend? Is that the person you would feel comfortable ugly crying in front of? Is that the person you would call in the middle of night when your life looks like a DROPPED PIE, and you know she would never judge you for having screwed up?

No.

The people I love and trust are no more balanced than I am. My beloved friends are the ones who have embraced their own glorious mess — and who have helped teach me, in the process, how to embrace my own.
Try to take it easy on yourselves this week, ok? Shed the obsession for perfection. Let go of the knife you’ve been holding to your own throats. IT’S ALL GONNA BE OK. It’s a messy business, being a human. It’s a messy world. It’s a messy life. And it’s all freaking glorious, and I love it.

Have a great week, lovelies. You’re all a bunch of hot messes, and you’re all perfect.

ONWARD,
LG

(And for more of August Wren, https://www.creativebug.com/…/illustrative-painting-with-go)

“Hiding takes many forms. Inappropriate attention to detail is a big one because it feels like a responsible thing to do.”
~ Seth Godin

Take a look at the two quotes above.

Attention to detail. Good. Necessary for greatness.
Attention to detail bad. Perfectionism. Hiding.

I agree. With both. Seriously.

My belief in the quality that lies in attention to detail remains unwavering.

HOT water causes peonies to open.

Dirty fingernails telegraph all your nasty secrets.

Cloth napkins. ONLY cloth napkins.

Clean underneath your patio furniture. God forbid someone moves a chair and a family of ten thousand baby black widow spiders decide it’s time for a meet-n-greet. (I speak from personal experience on this one).

Make sure you’re wearing your glasses when you shave your bikini line. You don’t want to leave unseen strips of grown out stubble that are long enough to braid. That’ll ruin any day at the beach. (Again with the personal experience.) And men, the same holds true for nose hair. Glasses on, and…Clip it.

Those are just the tip of the iceberg for me when it comes to paying attention to the details, and it’s easy for me to go overboard.

Here’s the thing, as unbelievable as it may seem to some, I’ve lightened up significantly the older I’ve gotten, and you know what? Things still look great—and I‘m so much happier.

As far as hiding in the attention to detail, never one to pass up a neurosis—I’ve done that too.

It’s easy as a writer to convince yourself that “it” will be so much better if you just work on it for a few more days. Who hasn’t done that with a project they care about? It’s got your name attached, so it better be perfect. Right?
Days turn into weeks, weeks turn to months, months to years and all you have are drawers and files full of “rough drafts”.

Just send the freakin’ article! Just enter the photograph in the contest! Jeez! Pahleez! There may be a typo, flub or a mistake.
Big. Deal.

Truth be told, tired eyes miss typos. They just do. I’ve seen typos in published material that was edited by industry professionals! It’s okay, it actually makes me smile and you know what? I’m pretty sure nobody died in the making of that minor error.

I know an artist AND a writer both of whom are so intellectually adept that they over think their creative endeavors to. a. fault. They’re always reading one more book, or taking yet anther class—when they should just be painting and writing! Enjoying the process.

No more details! Flip perfection the finger!

The rest of the Seth Godin essay:
“There are endless small details to get right before you have something you’re truly proud of. No doubt about it. But there are frightening and huge holes in any bridge to the future, and until you figure out how to get across, I’m not sure it matters if you have a typo on page 4.”

One way I figured out to get across the scary bridge is the fact that I take consolation in knowing there always has to be a FIRST DRAFT. Always. For everything.

Carry on,
xox

Oh, don’t get your panties in a bunch by thinking I’ve gotten too big for my own.
I’m fully aware I’m no video star—and that’s my point.

The title is a riff on that old 80’s song “Video Killed The Radio Star”  and how we tend to think that we need to be perfect to be creative and step out!

I had to move rooms because of the noise;
The lighting sucked;
And my computer was running out of juice.
Too bad. You know what else perfectionism kills? Spontaneity.

The show must go on. And so should yours!

Thanks for indulging me you guys!

xox

Oh yeah, there’s an outtake!

Ah, perfectionism – you rat-bastard.

You are the behind the scenes ruin-er of every event.
You are the “I told you so” inside every mistake.
You are the “It could have been better, you should be thinner, I’m a freak, a fake and a fraud” whispered in my ear at the end of every day.

In short, you are the cause of so much grief.

Perfection, like a 22-inch waist, a man who asks for directions, and delicious vegan cheese—is literally impossible. It is a myth and an illusion.

Perfectionism starts in childhood.
The dolls lined up perfectly on the shelf, school papers stacked in neat piles, worn thin by rigorous erasing. I should know.

Perfectionism stifles creativity.
They cannot co-exist; creativity is messy, I don’t care what anyone says. When you’re in the flow, you can just throw perfect punctuation and grammar to the wind.

Have you ever seen a painter’s studio when they are creating? It is a catastrophe! There is shit everywhere – Empty coffee cups, brushes and tubes of paint in heaps, tarps, stacks of ideas, even some paint on the ceiling (?).

Perfectionism would never be caught dead in the swirling vortex of creativity – it might mess up its perfect hair!

When you take perfectionism to the office; well, yeah, good luck with that.
It is the bully in the room, taunting you with thoughts of inferiority, assuring you that you’re not good enough.
Work harder, be better, PROVE YOUR WORTH, it sneers.

Perfectionism sabotages joy.
It’s a punk. It steals its lunch money and gives it a wedgie. Perfectionism hangs out with those two thugs, anxiety and stress.
It is my belief that perfectionism is complicit in every nervous breakdown. Most especially, the ones suffered during the holidays.

I can speak to this with authority.

I am a retired perfectionist.
It started to wane when I got married again. Perfectionism doesn’t compromise, and compromise and relationships arelikethis.

The exact time of death of my perfectionism occurred when we decided to live in our house during a remodel. Any last vestiges that remained hit the road, (along with the tiny bit of modesty I possessed.)
You reside in so much chaos, dirt, and destruction; I can remember wiping 4-5 inches of plaster and drywall dust off random surfaces in order to sit and drink the coffee we made in the bathroom. The refrigerator was in the dining room and we were sleeping in the garage.

It got so bad I actually started to throw trash (gum wrappers, receipts) on the floor, fuck it, what’s the use, it’s a disaster, I’d tell myself. The upside was that I’d never in my life felt so FREE! So I ran with it, and I haven’t looked back!

Living in a construction zone is like aversion therapy for perfectionists.

It’s time to join me and retire from perfectionism. Take off the twenty-ton shield and fly.

Maybe you want to talk about how you kicked perfectionism’s ass, or how you’re still struggling? Either way, I’d love to hear about it in the comments below. Don’t be shy. It doesn’t have to be perfect. 😉

Xox

“Perfectionism is a self-destructive and addictive belief system that fuels this primary thought: If I look perfect, and do everything perfectly, I can avoid or minimize the painful feelings of shame,judgment, and blame.”

― Brené Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You’re Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are

After reading this book and hearing this woman, whom I deem A gift from God speak,
I had an “ah ha” moment about that torturous, addictive, up in the middle of the night, thing called perfectionism.

What Brene helped me to understand, was that perfectionism comes from that deep well of shame and inadequacy that we immediately go to when we feel we must impress. But who are we impressing?
That well has been filled by all our negative self talk, and is fed by the very thing that we feel we lack the most.

So we will overextend ourselves, often to the point of exhaustion, to overcompensate. That starts more shame and self judgement, and now those negative voices, they have formed a choir…. A very loud choir, and the well gets deeper and deeper.

Here is the question I’ve had to ask myself. Am I striving for excellence?
wanting to be the best ME I can be? Is that what fuels the desire to be perfect?
Or…is all this tail chasing going on because of what I want “THEM” to think of me?
AH HA! Right?!

I was often under the false illusion that I was just striving for excellence.
But your demons are great bullshitters. They’ll tell you anything to keep the game going, those rascals.

So , “who am I trying to impress”‘ is always the first question I ask myself
When I get that twinge toward perfectionism.

Because you know what?
The peanut gallery,
“THEY”
Are never satisfied.
If they are as judgmental as I am…I’m doomed!

I have to say that age has set me free.
Perfectionism was my judge and jailer much more when I was younger, and age has brought me a certain ability to relax into the fact that things are never going to be perfect, most certainly, myself.

Whew!! What a relief!!

XoxJanet