Perfectionism is Holding Your Creative Genius Hostage
“The essence of being human is that one does not seek perfection.”
— George Orwell
I used to think talking about perfection was a kind of humble brag. “I’m such a perfectionist!” I’d say, mildly befuddled by my own long-lived tendencies to hone, refine, obsess. Compared with other ways of being, it seemed light and harmless, even quirky.
But I was naive. Perfectionism is a deeply confused philosophy that holds its adherents captive to a mythical reality. That everything will one day just “fall into place” or go “like clockwork.” That some kind of imaginary bargain can be struck with the messy, chaotic, unpredictable state of the world. And the central fallacy: that we are the ones who will somehow be able to orchestrate this pristine scenario. That it’s all up to us, the perfectionist superheroes.
All the while, the clock is ticking. While we’re propping up the mirage, living in allegiance to a made-up idea of a better version of ourselves just around the corner, other people are humming along with “good enough.” They are doing a fine job, raising a fine family, writing a fine book. And while we’re spinning our wheels, the imperfectionists are actually getting things done.
At its heart, perfectionism is about fear, it’s about anxiety. It’s about delaying your efforts until the exact right moment arrives (and it never does). It’s a colossal waste of time, a way of hamstringing yourself and your future indefinitely. It’s about restraint, limitation, tension, putting a lid on your own capacity.
True art, creativity and self-expression are impossible because these emerge from the cauldron of nascent ideas, needing air and light and space to develop. If tamped down in the formative stages they will not grow, and neither will you.
But it doesn’t come from nowhere, this self-made prison. Gloria Steinem’s calls perfectionism “internalized oppression.” The “not good enough” messages start to rain down early, and the more sensitive we are, the more vulnerable we are. And eventually we begin to mistake those berating, never satisfied voices for our own thoughts.
Who first told you had to be perfect?
When did this message come through, and how long has it been holding you hostage?
Are you ready to let it go?