Perfectionism
“Perfectionism
is self-abuse of the highest order.”
Anne
Wilson Schaef
In her
book, Simple Abundance, Sarah Ban Breathnach asks (5/15), “How
much of our lives is frittered away—spoiled, spent, or sullied—by our neurotic insistence
on perfection?” That is followed by, “Perfect [people] do not manifest
on this plane of existence.” My friend Isie and I had this conversation while walking on
the greenway just yesterday. We agreed that we did not want to die and have
folks say, “she kept a clean house.”
I know women who are
devoted to decorating and redecorating of their homes. When I lived in the
Homewood section of Birmingham in the 1980’s, I feared some of the houses in my
neighborhood might collapse in on themselves from the sheer weight of the paint
on the walls. Seasonal change of color seemed to be a race against time, and its
failure, an invitation to the harsh criticism of Emily Post, or perhaps Martha
Stewart. I love my home, but I don’t want to spend my life constantly painting
it.
Like everyone else, I don’t
enjoy living in a mess. We humans tend to accumulate things—not just things of value,
but insignificant things like paper clips and business cards—they stack up for
years in corners and cabinets. No one thinks to throw them away, because
someday you might need them—right? But someday never comes and now there are
stacks of unopened mail and twist-ties, discarded shipping paper and padded
envelopes that are no longer useable but might come in handy for something. At
this point, time must be dedicated to picking up and cleaning up, because it’s
necessary to a healthy environment. Perfectionism is different.
Perfectionism is a
driving force that never lets you rest, that is never satisfied, that cannot
bear having something out of place. It will not allow even the suggestion of dust
to accumulate on the coffee table. Perfectionism mops the kitchen every day and
stops to sweep a leaf off the patio when guests are ringing the doorbell.
Perfectionism means rearranging the glasses in the cabinet according to size
and having the exact number of matching cups and saucers to fill a shelf without
stacking. It cleans all day today, then gets up tomorrow and does it all over
again, because yesterday’s work was not…well, perfect enough. Perfectionism is
a serial killer of creativity.
When we give up being
perfectionists, we experience moments of real joy—perfectly delightful hours
and maybe even whole days. On this path of spiritual awakening, progress is
good enough. Perfectionism kills the spirit with an ax of triviality. Toss it
in the river!
In the Spirit,
Jane
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