I did a freewrite as soon as I saw the topic "Pitfalls of Perfectionism" on Psychology Today's "Hot List." A crummy first draft was easy. But then I wanted to hone it. Because once it's on the Internet, it's pretty much there forever. At least indefinitely. Definitely.
By the time my post was "perfected," the topic was gone. The "Hot List" had cooled. I looked over the updated "Hot List" in hopes of reshaping my post. "Fear" might work. After all, isn't that what underlies many writers' perfectionism? Fear of being judged, embarrassed, not good enough. The next day, when I went to publish my post, "Fear" had been lopped from the menu. I could lose sleep over that. Fortunately, "The Roots of Insomnia" had been added to the list.
Then I realized that trying to shoehorn my post into a "Hot List" topic was another form of perfectionism. So, I'm sticking with my original story about how a writer's work is never done and how we can perfect ourselves into obscurity.
Recently, a group of writers read our essays from Best Women's Travel Writing 2011 at our local bookstore, Book Passage. Although the book was already published, one of the authors continued to edit her piece. She showed us where she'd crossed out paragraphs in her copy of the book and added changes with post-it notes.
In writing, as in life, perfectionism can paralyze or keep us running in place. A few months ago, when a publisher asked me to sign off on galleys, I paused. That would mean no more tinkering. The beauty of a deadline is that the piece gets done. But, surely, I could improve it if I just spent more time, I told myself.
During my meditation that morning, an image arose unbidden. I saw myself in a Western corral, surrounded by prairie, unable to move forward until I'd signed off on the piece.
Outside the corral, the land stretched before me, dotted with activities I couldn't wait to do - go to the Impressionist Exhibit, call a friend, work on my book. But while I was trapped in perfecting my piece, I couldn't do anything else.
A thought passed through my mind: Just open the gate. In my meditation, I walked up to the gate and barely touched it with the tip of my index finger. A touch, not a push. Effortlessly, the gate swung open. I walked out lighter, freed from the weight - a weight that I had created and carried.
When the meditation ended, I walked to my computer, approved the piece, and chose the next thing I would do. Imperfectly.
Writing prompt:
Write about doing a "good enough" job, instead of a perfect one.
Copyright © 2011 by Laura Deutsch
