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Tag: inspiration

To the Perfectionists

Dear Perfectionist,

I have something to tell you, and by extension, something to tell myself. You have many faces and many forms, and so I write this to:

  • the neat-freak who cannot stand a molecule of dust out of place
  • the perfectionist in disguise whose desk is in chaos but whose personal standards are sky high
  • the one who puts in countless hours in an effort to achieve the perfect ____ (fill in the blank: musical skill, writing abilities, sports performance, test scores, etc.)
  • the one who expects everyone else to hold the same high standards
  • the one who extends grace to everyone but themselves
  • and the one who’s given up because they’ve failed too many times

You are a slave. You are chained to an ideal, a cruel master impossible to please. Day after day you strive to reach perfection. Or maybe you don’t even call it that. Maybe in your mind, Perfect is known as Better. Whatever its name, you chase it relentlessly, but somehow it always eludes you.

You likely don’t chase it in every area of life. Maybe you seek it in performance, but you’re perfectly all right with a messy room. Maybe you seek it in your outer world–everything in its place–but less so in your inner world, where you give yourself room for mistakes. And quite likely it’s an even more intricate paradox than that–your bookshelf might be organized alphabetically but your closet looks like a tornado hit it. You may hold strictly to an academic standard, yet not so much in physical fitness. There are infinite combinations, but if this letter is to you, there is at least one area in which you are enslaved.

Can I tell you something? I’m a perfectionist in disguise. My room is sometimes a group of little contained messes, with semi-organized piles of papers and books and things that belong together in some abstract way that only makes sense to me.

I think it should be cleaner.

When I sit down to write, I’m mostly okay with clumsy sentences, scrambled plots, and misbehaving characters in a first draft.

But I think I should write more, or faster.

Do I chase a state of perfection? Maybe. I don’t know. But I do know I chase progress. Because progress means movement towards perfection, or if not that, betterment. If I wake up intending to get some good writing done, and I go to bed at night having written nothing because life got in the way, I don’t like it. If I look at an area of my life and see no growth, it bothers me. Am I growing spiritually? Am I progressing as a writer? Am I getting better at my job? Are my relationships doing well? If the answer is ever no, that must mean “try harder.”

Those are the chains I struggle to break. Yours may look different.

This slavery is sneaky. It’s not constant misery. Sometimes you do achieve something you’re happy with (at least somewhat), and so there’s a measure of success, of satisfaction. It’s a carrot dangling in front of your nose, a taste of the glory you’ll feel when you finally reach that perfection in full. But when you stumble, your own whip comes whistling down to tear your back.

You could have done better.
You should have done more.
You shouldn’t have said that.
You failed.

Bleeding, you drag yourself up and try again. The worst part about this enslavement is that most of the time, you’re not aware. You don’t realize you hold the whip; you don’t know you’re bleeding out. You have moments of self-awareness, but those usually end up in more lashes, because goodness knows you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. (And down comes the whip again.)

What drives you? Why do you so badly desire that perfection? Do you know?

Like so many other things, the answer is rooted in fear.

Fear of failure, of rejection, of not being loved. Because if you’re good enough, they’ll love you, right? If you press on and work harder, do better, they’ll accept you. You’ll have a place in the ranks. You’ll mean something. You’ll be worthy.

If you do better, God will love you.

Is that the lie you’ve believed? Because trust me, though your mind may balk and say, “I know that’s not true, I know God loves me no matter what,” your heart might tell a different story. Mine has. And trust me when I say that your heart can hold so tightly to that belief, that it thickens and tightens and wraps a chain around your neck. And for the longest time, I had no idea that iron grip was there.

Breaking those bonds takes a journey. It’s a process of discarding the old and knowing the truth that sets you free. I wish the English language had another word for know. The kind I mean isn’t with your head–it’s with your heart. You may mentally acknowledge that you are loved, but do you know it? Do you completely and utterly believe it, to the point that you act like it? Is that truth so rooted in you that any word to the contrary can’t penetrate your heart because you know how very wrong it is?

If you’ve never heard it before, or if you’ve heard it a thousand times with deaf ears, listen now.

You. Are. Loved.

Did you know that if you stopped trying, if you let it all go to pot and let your life fall into shambles, that fact would not change one iota? I know you can hardly wrap your brain around that idea, so try instead to wrap your heart around it. Shut your brain up for just a moment. If you never did another thing for God or for anyone else, He would still love you just as much as He does right now. Your value to Him would remain unchanged. Can you see that? Can you start to?

Once you’re grounded in love, perfection isn’t necessary. Instead, you can strive for something much better: excellence. Do the best you can with what you have, and leave it at that. Keep going, keep improving–to stop is to stagnate–but don’t ever attach the pursuit to your identity. Give yourself grace. God does.

With love from:
A Recovering Perfectionist A Person of Excellence

On Dystopias

I can’t help it.
I analyze books.

It may have
started out as an intentional thing, but these days, I can’t help but pick
stories apart. I used to think such a habit would ruin the pleasure of reading,
yet I’ve found that, for me, it only adds to the experience. With most books I
sink into, I automatically look for what works, what doesn’t work, why
something does what it does. Why do I love this character? Why does this other
one fall flat? Why does the pacing feel off? What made that plot twist so
incredibly surprising?

Not only do I
find myself studying books, I find myself studying genres, too. What makes me
love fantasy so much? Why is dystopian so popular? I look at the categories
from my own personal viewpoint as a reader, and also try to see it from the
perspective of a wide audience.

I don’t know—maybe
it’s the writer in me.

 

I was thinking
about dystopias the other day. I’d just finished Allegiant (OH MY GOODNESS I
HAVE NO WORDS) and thoughts on the ending led me down a broken concrete trail
to the idea of dystopias in general. I don’t know if it’s coming or going, that
trend, but it has produced some insanely popular stuff. The Hunger Games,
Divergent, The Maze Runner,
etc.

So what’s the
appeal?

I’m sure that
answer is as multi-faceted as the genre’s readers. But a whole lot of the fans
are teens. And maybe all those teens identify with Katniss, who’s forced into
something she never wanted. Who can’t trust those in authority, or even the
friends around her. Maybe we readers see Tris, struggling with identity and a
choice that will determine her entire future, and we feel, “Yeah, that’s me
too.” We watch Thomas try desperately to figure out where the blazes he is, and
who put him there, and what he’s supposed to do . . . and those questions
resonate.

Because those
are our questions.

“What am I going
to do with my life?”

“What will I
choose?”

“Who can I
trust?”

“Why am I here?”
We reach for
independence, sometimes too quickly, and strain against the bonds of childhood.
The fictional cast of characters strives to break the bonds of a despotic government.

We see myriad
choices—big ones—looming in our futures, and we wonder, doubt, panic, analyze,
dream. The characters’ big choices mirror our own, but in a warped mirror that
expands and extrapolates those decisions. A city rests on the choice; lives depend
on the action taken.

We look around
at our world, the dimensions of which have suddenly exploded, and we feel
increasingly small. The characters peel back layers of story and discover all
is not as they once thought.

This relevance
can be true of any story, any genre. These tales echo in the chambers of our hearts
because on a certain plane, they are real. They are our very own
stories, played out with different names, different locations, different
circumstances . . . yet with all too familiar themes.


And so when
Katniss fires a well-aimed arrow, we cheer. When Tris faces her deepest fears,
we pump our fists. The victories of these characters help us realize, “I can
too.”

In a
progressively secluded society, where we can so easily hide behind screens, it
is even easier to feel that we are alone in our struggles. That we must be the
only ones going through this. In books we find companions with whom we
empathize. A poor substitute for real friendship, I suppose, but nonetheless
encouraging. Somebody else out there feels the way I feel. They are facing
worse, and yet they still get up in the morning, they still press on. They lose
and fail and shatter into a million pieces, but they put themselves back together
. . . and they make it.

I can too.

Herein lies one
of the mysterious powers of story—to use an untruth to reveal truth. To use
fiction to shed light on reality. Through fabricated hardships, a story
comforts us in our trials, and inspires us with the courage to walk through to
the other side as a stronger person.

Yes, dystopias
feed on the fears of today and paint grim pictures of tomorrow; of a fallen
race, a broken planet, a corrupted government. Yes, dystopian authors sometimes
write with a societal or environmental critique in mind.

But under the
agendas, we might find sparks to feed our own dying flames. In the bleak
landscapes, we can rediscover hope. And that, I think, is the reason we are so enraptured with these fractured tales.