In Pursuit of Perfection

Image By Ben Javers via Sarah Wilson

Perfection is a crippling disease, one that I thought I was relatively free of. I am not a slave to order. To an outsider, I certainly don't look as though I suffer from perfectionism. I'm used to wading through a debris of toys and squashed sultanas in my home. Chaos and perfectionism can't surely co-exist?

But I'm realising that perfectionism comes in many guises. I suffer from a form of perfectionism that prevents me from giving things a go. Some perfectionists might labour and agonise for days, months, years, before producing something they deem worthy. As for me? Well, I won't even begin, believing there's no point in toiling away as the finished product will never reach the unattainable bar that I set for myself.

For me, perfectionism is simply the fear I wont be good enough; the fear that I could stumble and fail; the fear that hardens and encloses me.

Here are three ways I'm learning to let go of perfectionism's strong-hold:

It is better to travel well than to arrive. (Buddha)
When I think about pursuing something, whether it be photography or writing, I have an ideal outcome in mind. My mind then begins churning up fears that I won't be able to achieve the desired outcome in the future, making the present moment murky and hard to navigate. These fears are diminished when my intentions are to play and explore, rather than achieve a certain outcome.

Your endeavours don't define who you are
When the simple prospect of just 'giving it a go' could threaten the fragile foundations of your self-worth, it's better to just play it safe. When the ground is a little shaky, I remind myself that I am not my failures, nor my successes. In the words of Louise Hay, we are perfect, whole and complete just as we are; despite the crappy photos, flawed words and yogurt-matted hair.


Embrace the fear
It isn't realistic to think I can simply wipe my hands of fear and carry on. The more I judge and wrestle with my fears, the more I am trapped by them. Ironically, we need to sit with the fear to release its control. Whenever the fear of not being good enough arises, I try to simply notice it. I gently encourage myself to watch the swirl of anxious thoughts without trying to smother or judge them. In this moment-to-moment experience, I can see the fear as a fleeting event in the mind, which isn't 'me'.

Post Script
Ironically, this post took many attempts to write, with me chopping and changing ideas and my finger pounding the delete button. Looks like this 'letting go of perfectionism' thing is a work in progress.

Hope for the Scanners

I have always been know as 'scatty'. School report cards would describe a young girl with her head in the clouds. Unfocused. Non-committed. And, although it wasn't explicitely stated, maybe even a little stupid. I flitted from piano to singing to guitar, unable to cement my interest in any one thing. My list of career pursuits (all of which have never fully come into fruition) is extensive: At some point in my life, I have explored the realms of journalism, commerce, acting, psychology, chiropractic, nutrition and fashion design. I worryingly looked on as my friends enjoyed a linear path from school to university to career, while I dallied and deliberated.

But what if this wasn't such a bad thing? According to Barbera Sher, author of Refuse to Choose, it isn't.

I am what is known as a "scanner" - someone who has many different interests, and finds it hard to have a successful life because their many passions are pulling them in many different directions.

It always irks me when I read articles about how finding your one true passion will lead to success and fulfillment. Sure, there are many people who've known from a very early age what they want to do in their life. But what about the rest of us, floundering in a sea of endless possibilities? Are we doomed to drown?

Sher doesn't think so.

The Scanner philosophy redefines what commitment is. Instead of 'knuckling down and getting on with it', one should be committed to following their heart. And when you're heart's not in it, you bravely move on.

Adaptation

When I'm at the park with Charlie, I like to walk in other peoples' shoes. Figuratively, that is. The other day, I watched a mother with newborn twins try to console her toddler, who had thrown a whopping tantrum in the sandpit. I wondered how I would cope, and I came to the conclusion that I wouldn't.

I started fretting. What if I decided to try for another baby straight away? I'd have to give up my dream to attend drama school next year. Would I regret my decision? Would I be happy?

But then, as I was browsing the TED website, I stumbled upon Dan Gilbert's talk on happiness. He suggests that either decision would make me equally happy in the long run. Apparently, humans are equipped with a psychological immune system, which allows us to find a silver-lining on the darkest of clouds. We don't have to wait until all our dreams and desires come into fruition to experience happiness. Rather, we are able to synthesise happiness when we accept our lot in life, even if it isn't what we wanted. Gilbert provided some startling data to support this idea: a year after losing the use of their legs, and a year after winning the lotto, lottery winners and handicapped are equally happy with their lives.

Gilbert argues that this psychological immunity seems to function best when we have restricted choices, for example if I accidentally fell pregnant and had no choice but to forgo drama school. This argument seems to be counter-intuitive on a few levels.  Firstly, we are led to believe happiness comes when we get exactly what we want. We get the promotion at work, we are happy. We get fired from our job, we are sad. Simple, right? Secondly, we enjoy having the freedom to choose. We have a range of wonderful futures to choose from, and we can find the one we most enjoy. However, Gilbert argues that free choice is the enemy of synthetic happiness. When we are stuck with a choice, we find a way to be happy. We adapt.

Circumstances don't make us happy, our attitude does. Circumstances are always in a state of flux. When hinged on outside events, happiness is shaky and fleeting. It is a great comfort to know that we can manufacture the feeling of happiness, without changing our circumstances.

“The one thing you can’t take away from me is the way I choose to respond to what you do to me. The last of one’s freedoms is to choose ones attitude in any given circumstance.”
Nazi death camp survivor, Viktor Frankl.

~ Whatever Happens, Happens ~

Like any new mother, I was ensconced in an endless stream of information about how to raise a baby. I hungrily devoured advice from friends, family and random people in toilet queues. I eagerly read parenting books and trawled online forums.

As a result, I had many expectations about how baby Charlie would operate.  "The first 12 weeks are the hardest" said one friend. "By the time my babies were six months old they were sleeping through the night" said another. I can handle six months of disrupted sleep, I thought.

Looking back, I can't believe how naive I was.

For the first 12 weeks of Charlie's life, I was in a blissful bubble. I serenely floated around huddling my precious baby, content in the knowledge that all the pieces of my life were finally fitting together. Despite a few difficulties breastfeeding and dealing with dirty nappies, there was peace and a divine sense of order.

At seven weeks, Charlie slept for six hours' straight when my husband Tim and I had a weekend away at Half Moon Bay. We were elated. We had scored a low maintenance baby. I smugly told child-free friends how motherhood was easy. They were amazed at how I was taking it in my stride.

At four and a half months, the wheels started to come off. The hormones which had enveloped me in a blissful, loved-up fog were subsiding. My family had returned home to Australia. Tim was working long hours at work. And Charlie had decided that sleep was overrated. For the next 12 months, Charlie would awake at night every one-two hours.

I was floored. I couldn't work out was I was doing wrong, and I was sick with fatigue. I cried in the shower. I screamed into my pillow. I told myself I wasn't cut out to be a mother.

I had blindly clung on to the expectation that babies are supposed to sleep through the night at six months. I added to my suffering by fearing that the sleepless nights would never end. I don't know what was worse; the fatigue or the sense that I had somehow failed.

After a particularly exhausting period over Christmas, I realised that Charlie was going to miraculously improve his sleeping habits. I had to shift my attitude and let go of my expectations.

After reading Sarah Napthali's book, Buddhism For Mothers, I started to make some changes and accept my reality. I simplified my life and gave myself permission to do nothing during Charlie's nap times. I stopped comparing myself to mothers who were getting eight hours of shut-eye each night. Slowly, I began to accept my reality and comfort myself with the knowledge that this too, shall pass. And, it did.

I'm not saying that my new-found acceptance miraculously made everything better; I was still deliriously tired. I just didn't torture myself with unrealistic expectations. And that felt liberating. 

Charlie is now 17 months old, and I have been enjoying 8 hour stretches of sleep for the past two months. I am aware, however, that this could all change. Whatever happens, happens.

                                        Charlie sleeping peacefully at 2 months, during our
                                        smug phase.