If avoidance and fear of failure are applicable across the chipmunk board,* perfectionism is, I think, more common in Simons. There are some especially nitpicky Alvins out there, but frankly, they should be prioritizing “doing stuff” before they get to “doing it perfectly,” n’est-ce pas?
To Simons, perfection is a bright, shining beacon toward which they must march with hunger and purpose if they really want to win at life. But in fact, perfection is an illusion, a shimmering oasis in the desert of their minds. Like trying to diet your way to Sofía Vergara, holding perfection in your sights is a self-defeating strategy.
Which is why I’m here today to tell you:
My name is Sarah, and I am a recovering perfectionist.
Yes, it’s true. I’m a grade-A tweaker, constantly fighting the urge to redo the same shit over and over until it’s PERFECT. This unhealthy behavior will always be part of me, and each day is a battle against giving in to it.
Sound familiar? If so, consider the variety of things you might have to accomplish on any given day:
Write a memo for your boss
Pick up your dry cleaning
Design a baby shower invite for your friend, clean your apartment for your parents’ impending visit, and make a reservation at your dad’s favorite seafood joint (the man loves a nice piece of fish)
Now, let’s say it took you most of the day, but you finished the memo. You lost at least an hour deleting and reinstating semicolons, but that’s par for the course, right? Everybody does that! (No, they don’t.)
You got your delicates out of hock just before your dry cleaner flipped the CLOSED sign in the window, but that meant you had to lug a garment bag around while you canvassed three different stationery stores for paper for the shower invite. The first two shops had blue, but not the “Superman’s tights” hue you had your heart set on. You finally found that, ran home, shoved a taco in your face, and then started hunting for fonts.
Ooh, that’s a good one. But what if there’s a way to sans-serif the first letter of each line and then small-caps the time and date, and use the script version of that other font for the ampersands because when they’re ever so slightly tilted they look like little storks and…
Oh, hey, can’t stop tweaking, can you? Yep, join the club.
Tweak.
At a certain point, the time and energy you’ve poured into any of the items on your must-do list is going to reach critical mass, and the more of it you spend trying to get one thing perfectly perfect, the less time you have for any of the rest. Suddenly—despite your best intentions—instead of having your shit together, your whole day has gone to shit. It’s too late to vacuum or your downstairs neighbor will complain, and Barnacle Billy’s just gave away their last three-top for Saturday night. At this rate, your mom will be bleaching your toilet while your dad eats microwaved Mrs. Paul’s, and you’ll probably spill tartar sauce on your freshly dry-cleaned blouse, just for good measure.
Tell me, Simon. Have you ever heard the saying “Don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good?” Well, in our case, we can’t let the perfect be the enemy of the win.
Think about it for a minute. Even the biggest, most celebrated winners are rarely actually perfect. A competitive gymnast may be aiming for a fabled “perfect ten,” but that almost never happens (especially with this new scoring system, which seems designed to drive little leotarded Simons to drink vodka shooters off the balance beam).
And if one of those human pogo sticks can win an Olympic gold medal without being perfect, then you can certainly win at your own motherfucking life.
I’m telling you, kids, don’t get hooked on perfection. It’s no way to live.