How Perfectionism Steals Joy

 I do not expect perfection from others.  In fact, it's the imperfections that usually endear people to me.  When they show vulnerability and humanity, it is practically irresistible.  (That's a whole topic for another blog post, though.)

Despite embracing the imperfection of others, I have been tyrannical with myself - demanding perfection in thought, word, and deed for years now.  Any interaction or event that I deemed sub-par was subject to constant scrutiny by that lovely inner critical review board.

My satisfaction with nothing less than perfection has ruined, or nearly ruined, some potentially amazing experiences.  One day in particular comes to mind:


My sweetheart at the time and I decided to take a rare day off from work and sneak off to the beach for the day. Can you imagine anything more perfect? I was going to take him to the beach where I spent most of my childhood where I would show him one of my favorite spots on earth. He was looking forward to getting his toes in the sand, eating hushpuppies, and taking a walk in the surf. It sounded so lovely that I could hardly wait!

The morning came and started off shakily.   Aren't you going to...? Why didn't you...? I thought we were...?   Nothing beyond the normal scrambling of two adults early in a relationship road tripping together, but every exchange turned the crank on my already tightened nerves. That trip felt significant. Important. Pivotal. I was taking the lead - being the tour guide for the first time - and it had to be perfect. My companion was important to me, and I wanted to make him happy. Nothing less would do!

As we drove down east, I tried to shake myself out, to relax into the day, but the inner CRB had convened, and they were just getting warmed up.

This drive is too long. If you'd just taken us to xyz, we would be there by now. This music is tedious. I should have made a road trip playlist. 

On and on and on...

Finally, we made it to the shore and got our toes in the sand. It was mid-June, a beautiful sunny day, and for a moment, my mind was still. It's kind of impossible to find fault with a stretch of sand and the lovely vista of the Atlantic stretching out before you. We walked. We talked. We laughed.

At lunch time, I knew just where to take him for the perfect beachy meal. We drove the 30 minutes to a neighboring town where we sat down at a highly recommended little seafood cafe. We grabbed a table overlooking the harbor where we sat. For 10 minutes. Ten long, tense minutes while we waited for a server to come to our table. When she finally came, scowling, we asked for tea and hushpuppies and settled in. So did the CRB.

Why did you have to ORDER hushpuppies? Most places just bring them. What kind of place did you drag us to? Why are we waiting so long to be served? 

I was a wreck. When the hushpuppies arrived, they were laced with vile jalapenos - inedible to both my companion and me. He had asked for one thing. ONE THING on this trip, and I had failed to make it happen. I excused myself to the restroom, because I didn't want to burst into tears at the table. 

What is wrong with you? Crying over small globes of cornmeal? Get it together!

I wasn't crying over the hushpuppies, of course. It was so much deeper than that. The trip, which I was in charge of planning, was not perfect. It HAD to be perfect! I pulled myself together, and headed back to the table.  I knew of a better place - we'd go there for dinner.  I would make it up to him.  The day would be saved.  I smiled and chatted, but my mood cast a pall over the rest of our meal.

The afternoon was really lovely.  We poked around the town a bit, visited some shops, grabbed ice cream at the strangest, most charming little parlor and gift shop.  We bought fudge from  a 4 year old girl who was running the counter of her Grampy's store.  We found a spot on the shore where we set up our chairs and just soaked it in.  We swapped stories and enjoyed the view until the sun started to get low in the sky.

We headed back to the car, where we sat for a few minutes, watching the sun sink while we tried to get the sand off our feet.  He wanted to linger there, but I was getting worried.  The place I was taking him for dinner gets notoriously busy.  Since we were driving home that night, we really needed to get going if we wanted to get a table.  

We pulled up to a nearly empty parking lot.  That damned place was CLOSED on Wednesdays.

I sat there for a moment, to stunned to even be able to cry.  I didn't know what to do, except admit defeat.  I had tried to make the perfect day, but the day had beaten me.  I surrendered.

We got back into the car, drove a few blocks and found a little seafood dive.  We said down and almost immediately, a waitress swooped down with a basket of hot golden hushpuppies.  I swear, I heard a choir of angels sing.  I had never felt more relieved in my life.   As we dug into our meal, my nerves finally started to unwind a bit.  I had to laugh about the hushpuppy saga, but I was angry at myself.  

This was supposed to be a beautiful, perfect, romantic getaway day.  You ruined it by being so uptight.  Why can you not just RELAX?

Even in that "all's well that ends well" moment, I was incapable of accepting imperfection. I told myself it was because it was important.  It mattered.  But the truth was darker than that.  I've thought about that day often through the course of my recovery.  The signs of my misguided thinking were everywhere: controlling, care-taking, perfectionism.


My companion would later tell me that this day featured a pivotal moment for him - one where he felt complete and utter love, contentment, and joy.  It was the moment where we were sitting on the back of the car watching the sun set.  You know, the one I abruptly ended so we could get a table at the restaurant that wasn't even open?  Realizing that broke my heart a little.  I had missed his most wonderful moment because I was worried about freaking hushpuppies.

How many times have I wished I could go back and re-live that day knowing what I know now?  I missed the moment - not because of lack of love.  All my crazy-tense behavior came from my desperate need to produce a perfect day to show this person exactly how much he was loved.  So I'm glad, at the very least, that he felt loved.   But I missed the moment because I was fixated on the checklist in my mind.  I disregarded wonderful, because I was striving for perfect.  The comedy of errors that became this hushpuppy saga could have been a hilarious dinner party story that we'd tag-team tell for years to come, were it not for my need for perfection.

Perfection robs us of joy.

Now when I recall that story and the lessons learned from it, I instead steer my thinking to those moments of spontaneous joy.  They were there.  Tons of them.  And so I try to remember those, because in my life, I want joy.

So I abandon the hope for perfection.  Most of the time.

Footnote: this post has been written for a week, but I couldn't put it up because I had to find the perfect graphic to go with it.  I  guess old habits die hard.  Finally, I just grabbed one that was good enough.

Hey!  It's a process.  :-)