I have always been a perfectionist.
To some it may seem like a very good thing but trust me on this one- it is horrible. I hate it. I hate being a perfectionist. And unless you're one too, you wouldn't understand how it feels. You don't know what it means to half arse on a job. You don't understand the time we put into the littlest of details. You don't understand what it's like to have these wonderful completely mind-blowing ideas swirling in your head and then the sad realisation that you will never be able to pull them through because they will never be finished. They will never be perfect.
Is this really necessary? You'd ask, watching me fluttering around fixing the minutest of details.
Yes. Yes, it is. Of course it is. It is to me. But I don't want it to be. I want to finish my projects. I want to fill up all my empty journals. I want to make an off cup of tea and drink it without spazzing out. I want to put on an uncoordinated outfit- something that completely goes against the weather- and walk right out the door without a second thought. I want to wrap a present messily and say, hey, at least I tried. I don't even have a messy scrawl. My writing is neat and symmetrical and when a friend told me it looked printed, I wanted to cry. God, I want to show people my work without the incessant thought in my head that it's not ready. I'm not ready. Even though I know in my heart that it's okay not to be ready either.
I will not always have the answers, I will not always be the best at a certain thing, and I will not always have the solution. I don't have to plan and organise everything down to the last detail. I can be spontaneous. I can be impulsive. I can mess up. I can slip up. I can hell- even do a bad job. It isn't a crime, it isn't a sin. Right? Then why does my heart speed up at the thought of not giving my 110 percent? We are humans, we are meant to be a little sloppy, a little off the mark. We are meant to be imperfect. If only that would sink into me. My mind understands it but somehow it just doesn't translate to my body. It really doesn't.
I try not to care. I try to hold off on my slightly OCD urges and I try not be a perfectionist but it isn't that easy. I still try though. And one day, I will tie my laces. And one bow will be wonky. One loop will be bigger than the other and one end of the laces will be longer than the other.
But guess what?
I. Won't. Care.
