I have this sticky note by my computer to remind me to not give into my perfectionism.
If I let Perfectionism out to play, she will hijack what I’m doing and insist on endless changes to get the project just right. Which doesn’t seem to be all that bad, right? Everything can be a little bit better than it is.
This is just what Perfectionism wants us to believe. That her endless tinkering has value. Is needed. Necessary. If we give into her, she will gleefully attack our work until it has become a mere shadow of what we actually wanted it to be.
Writing is Perfectionism’s favorite place to add her special brand of torture to my life, but we are by no means limited to writing. Perfectionism loves to get her tentacles into how I manage our finances, how I clean a room, organize my home office, even how I structure the folder system on my computer. Perfectionism would be in every corner of my life if I let her.
(And typing that I have this picture of Perfectionism standing at the edge of the bed while my husband and I have sex, brutally critiquing my technique. I may need to bleach my brain now, thanks, Perfectionism. Thank you soooooo much.)
How do we reign in Perfectionism? We focus on done. Completing the task. Remembering that often good is good enough. Do I want my novella to be perfect? Sure. Am I going to be okay with something that is good instead of perfect? I hope so. So many books I read aren’t necessary perfect and it’s in their imperfections that story is able to flourish. Which is really what I want – my story to flourish. And it won’t flourish if I’m never able to finish it.
So done is better than perfection. Done is real. It’s solid. Perfection is a potential state of being, and I’m fairly certain I don’t want to live there.