Perception Of Perfection

Today I pulled out the art supplies for my children and asked them if they wanted to design a poster for a contest. As I watched them work, I was struck by their differing personalities. My happy go lucky child dives right in. He sloshes paint and water around. He is happy with the process. He produces many paintings and declares each of them so damn good he doesn't know which one to send in to the contest.

Then I have a child who is paralyzed by the very idea of producing something. He has gone through twenty sheets of paper in as many minutes. Every line he produces on his paper is not good enough. He is critical of all of his ideas. When he does have a good idea he doesn't follow through because he becomes paralyzed by the small details. Nothing is ever good enough.

It is frustrating to watch him. I want to grab him by the shoulders and give him a good shake. "Get over it. No one is perfect."I want to say.

He reminds me of myself.

How often in my life I sit where he is now. How often I do nothing, not out of laziness, but out of fear. I mean, what is the point of doing something if you can't do it perfectly. Perfection, however, is paralyzing.

I have an opportunity to do something that I really want to do, and I am blowing it. And I know I am blowing it, and yet I feel paralyzed.

Why? Because it is easier to give the excuse that I am busy with my kids, my house, my life than to put forth the effort and be rejected. It's easier to tell myself that I needed to scrub out my kitchen sink with the green scrubbie pad and bleach and then take an old toothbrush around the edges where the edge of the sink meets the counter. Or that I needed to go through my clothes drawers and take out all the things I no longer want and put them in a pile for Goodwill. It's easier to type this up for my blog. Or a myriad of other excuses with which I attempt to console myself, as I let this opportunity slip through my fingers.

I haven't even told my husband about it, because I don't want to disappoint him with my failure to follow through. Because after 11 years of marriage I still feel like he is sticking around until someone better comes along, someone more perfect. Yes, I'm crazy. Don't you wish you were married to me?

Last night at the boys' baseball game I was talking to one of the mothers when she came to pick up her son. She wanted to thank me for sharing my husband with the team, which was very sweet of her. Then she said, "But you have it all under control. You are so perfect and composed all the time. I don't think I have ever seen you flustered or lose your patience. You are so together... I bet everyone says that to you."

I had to look over my shoulder to see if there was someone standing behind me that she was talking to. I answered, "Only people who don't know me very well say that." I am nothing if not self deprecating. Look at me, I can't even accept a compliment gracefully. She laughed and said she knew that wasn't true.

But it is true.

My son just held up a painting, "Now this one is the bestest one yet." I resist the urge to ask about the big scribbled out area on the upper right quarter of the paper. He doesn't even see that huge glaring mistake on his paper, that imperfection. The rest of the painting, which is quite nice, cancels that out for him. Perhaps that is perfection after all.

How I long to be like my 6 yr old. To slosh about in the paints, have fun with it, and be happy with the results, imperfections and all. To get messy with life.

I'll tackle that opportunity I have been putting off as soon as I finish typing this and cleaning up the kitchen. Oh and the vacuum isn't working and I really need to vacuum, so after I fix that. Oh and the laundry needs to be put away. So I'll have to tackle it later. Tomorrow at the latest. Really.