When Perfectionism Holds You Back From Trying
Photo by Quinn Corte, 2014.
When I was very wee, I started ballet classes. I met a friend there—let’s call her Kathy—and we danced together for years and years, eventually going to the same middle school. As we got into the tween girl years (ugh), I spent most ballet classes comparing myself to everyone else. Who was the best? Who was the worst? And where did I fit in?
In case you’re dying to know, Kathy wasn’t the best and wasn’t the worst. She was fine. Okay, I’ll just say it. I was better than her.
So that’s why my jaw dropped when Kathy got on stage in our eighth grade talent show and did a ballet solo. I remember it so clearly. To “Kissed by a Rose” by Seal, she did the simplest choreography—if you can even call it that—a few tight chassés, a couple grand jetés, and like 4 cursory single pirouettes. Then she repeated the whole routine until the song was over.
I. Was. Gobsmacked.
Did she really just get up there and demo a few basic steps—in front of everyone?
I loved being onstage. Dreamed about it, fantasized about it. (I still do, TBH). But it had never occurred to me that I could do a ballet solo at school in front of my classmates. Because I wasn’t the best.
Kathy got lots of praise after her solo. “That was so goooood!” The other girls squealed. “I didn’t know you were such a great dancer, Kathy!”
I was—and still am—absurdly envious. My judgement of Kathy had nothing to do with her performance, which was adorable, brave, and just right. My envy was because she did something I didn’t even know was an option for me: to get onstage and just do a *decent* job.
I missed that opportunity (and so many others) because I held myself to such high standards that trying didn’t even occur to me. And if it had occurred to me, I wouldn’t have deemed myself “ready” for the stage. I was comparing my sweet 14-year-old abilities to adult professional ballerinas. By that measuring stick, I wasn’t nearly good enough to showcase my talents. And what a shame! Because by then, I had eleven-ish years of experience and a natural grace and flair—and more importantly, I would have enjoyed it so, so much.
Maybe if I wasn’t always trying to be perfect, I’d have more fun?
~
Growing up, I was excellent at many things. And that felt really good.
My natural talents in academics, the arts, and communication were strong, so I enjoyed learning and practicing them and received a lot of praise. But anything I wasn’t naturally great at (sports, for example), I wouldn’t try. I didn’t want to look foolish. I didn’t want people to doubt my worthiness by being mediocre at something that many other people were good at.
The pressure I put on myself to be phenomenal was compounded by the school system. I was given the labels worn by many precocious children of the 80s, including “Gifted & Talented” and “IB/AP,” which gave me more resources with a side of inflated self-importance. My competitive personality tipped over into cutthroat as I went to good public schools that were obsessed with rankings, test scores, and extracurriculars. Around the time of Kathy’s big solo, I already believed I should either go above and beyond with every single thing I attempted—or not even bother.
I’ve spent decades trying to unravel my ambition. When does my drive come from deep within, helping me grow and stretch in exciting ways that enrich my life? And when is my drive actually stemming from a false pressure that I need to be exceptional, always?
I love who I am, and that includes my skills and talents, my drive to learn, my creativity, and my feisty tenacity. But I don’t love the pressure I put on myself. I don’t love it when I believe the inner monologue that I need to do more, go faster, or be perfect—especially when it keeps me from enjoying life.
There’s a really fine line between excellence and perfectionism, and I’m getting better at sussing out the difference.
Excellence is spending careful time editing this email for typos.
Perfectionism is second-guessing how this will be received and whether I should start over.
Excellence is delighting in creating a gourmet spread and immaculate tablescape for a dinner party.
Perfectionism is staying up late to clean the house because the HVAC guy is coming by tomorrow.
Excellence is practicing many, many times before a big talk.
Perfectionism is not volunteering for the talk because I don’t feel good enough.
~
I want to tell my 14-year-old self that mediocrity is a very worthy option. That doing some things half-assed is a necessity, because life is very demanding and you won’t have enough energy to go “all out” on everything. Besides, very few people and things truly deserve your best.
I want her to understand that she can choose what she wants to pour her heart and soul into and what she just “phones in.” I want to show her how amazing she is, even when she’s terrible at something new or barely even trying. What she expects of herself is way, way too high. 90% of the time, she just has to show up. That's it.
She should know that she can be gentle and kind to herself and still be exceptional. I would point out that Kathy took the pressure off by doing a few really simple steps instead of complex choreography, and that simplifying is a great way to help yourself do brave things.
I want her to know that she doesn’t have to wait for mastery to put herself out there—that she should share what she loves and do what she longs for, no matter how it may be received.
Of course, if I told her all this, she’d probably just roll her eyes.
Sometimes, we need to learn things the hard way.
Your turn:
What delights has perfectionism kept you from experiencing?
If it was okay to be really mediocre, what’s one thing you’d try or share?
What’s something you’re so good at, that even doing a C+ job would be way better than most people?