I have downloaded a small digital timer to my desktop. I don’t use it a lot, perhaps not when I should (to time writing sprints, for instance) and definitely when I shouldn’t. It’s there because I often care more about how something is done than in the result.
It’s a paranoia bred of insecurity and fear; I learned early that something done effectively was still wrong if not done correctly. These lessons range from the huge to the minute. People aren’t allowed over to the house if it is not sterling clean and fashionable — a rule that reinforced my mother’s isolation and probably feeds into mine. Don’t wear tailored clothes if you are over a size 8. Boiled eggs must be cooked for exactly 11 minutes. Shoes should match your bag, in style if not in color (you will never see me toting a backpack while wearing heels).
None of these are terrible life lessons, though. I mean, cooking boiled eggs for 11 minutes has worked out well for me over the years.
What has not worked out well for me is how this has intersected with my OCD and my creative urges. There are plenty of OCD artists, I’m sure, so I’m not suggesting those traits are incompatible, but combined with my innate need to be “correct”…well, I find myself stumbling along not doing things I want to do because I’m sure I will do them the wrong way.
It’s like that timer sitting on my desktop (always open, always on top). It’s not there to guarantee perfectly cooked eggs, it is there to make sure I follow the rules. Because if I cook them for 12 minutes, well the eggs might be a little too hard boiled but I, sad pathetic creature that I am, will be humiliated because I DID IT WRONG.
But the eggs will be edible, after all.
I used to think that perfection was a matter of precision, of getting everything precisely correct according to the rules, even if the rules did not exist anywhere but inside my head. But I’ve cooked enough eggs to know that each batch is different, no matter how perfectly I’ve timed the cooking of them.
I’m working on doing less obsessing about the rules and more accomplishing of the goals. I’m doing pretty poorly at it right now. It’s a process, is what I’m saying.
I’ve spent most of my life being precise, dull, and boring — scared of saying or doing things because I was scared I would be judged WRONG somehow. I’m not entirely sure how to get past that, but until I do, until I embrace imprecise and bright and exciting, I’m pretty sure I will continue to languish, artistically.
