Perfect Circles

Image courtesy Toothpaste For Dinner

One week in and What Am I Doing Really? Yeah, it’s time for the first of 4 weekly self-assessment posts to check my status.

Not counting this one, I’ve posted 7 out of the last 9 days. 7/9 reduced, oh wait, can’t reduce that … WHERE’S MY CALCULATOR?!

Ah, that’s about 78%. Or .777777777778 for you math whizzes. But you already knew that.

So, I’m getting a “C” right outta the gate. Hmm, if it were one of my kids I might consider tutoring. Or at least a parent – teacher conference.

I could make excuses. Like, I wasn’t home all day yesterday. Or, I couldn’t think of anything, which is even lamer.

Actually, I think there’s perhaps a little perfectionism going on. I’m pretty sure that that’s what’s kept me from even starting a blog until now (I mean, look at that. I even say, “I’m pretty sure …” Ha!). I probably wouldn’t have told you so, but now I admit it. Especially since I saw this Men With Pens article today. The cat’s outta the bag. Crap.

Maybe what James says here strikes a chord with you too:

“Perfectionism doesn’t mean you appreciate perfection. Perfection doesn’t exist. It just means you’re full of self-doubt, but you can’t admit it.

Who wants to face the demons within themselves, after all? If we admitted they existed, we’d have to do something about them [emphasis mine]. We’d have to struggle with them, fight with them, understand them, and overcome them.

Better to be a perfectionist.”

Oh … man. I really don’t like gettin’ slapped like that.

I enjoy writing but I hesitate to do so. Way too often I feel the need to be competent at something before I share it. I don’t like to fail, I’ve done so. Out of some degree of self-protection, I get perfectionistic.

That’s really what this 30-day challenge is about as the posts are and will be far from perfect and without much of a voice or direction. I’m a rookie.

I think it’s the same with a project that may not seem quite finished or the painting that feels like it needs a few more brushstrokes.

But if no one ever reads the distillation of thoughts as words, or the mix of items that make up the project or the painting that’s beauty to the beholder, of what worth is it?

Half decent practice, I suppose. Because the fear of sharing and the scrutiny that’s sure to come overwhelms the act of doing so, leading nowhere. And worth nothing.

So far, I’ve got a “C”. It ain’t perfect.

And that’s a really good thing.

Is there something that you get perfectionistic about?