Let's be honest. I am a perfectionist. How often have I heard, "Wow, are you still working on that?" To keep the self-destructive tendency at bay, I concentrate on viewing every task I take on through the eyes of the person who will benefit from its results. Doing so often frees me from the most rigid standards and harsh judgement - my own.
I realized recently that I already knew this to some extent in fourth grade. In May that year I was assigned by Mrs. A. to make a Mother's Day card for my mother. I considered for a brief agonizing minute picture, poem, pop-up, what to do? Then I realized that the real recipient of the card would not be my mother, but my teacher. For my mother we would plan something as a family, or I would make her breakfast in bed, or decorate her bedroom mirror. So, I just asked myself, what would Mrs. A want to hear?
About ten minutes later I brought my letter to her desk for approval. It displayed the straightforward, but overbearing style of writing that my teacher delighted in: "Thank you, Mom, for guiding me along the winding road of life. You are always there for me, and you shower me with love." Mrs. A liked my Mother's Day card so much that she got tears in her eyes, hugged me around the middle, and called for silence in the class so that she could read my composition aloud.
In a parallel scenario I could have made an off-beat, but sincere Mother's Day card there, and I would have given up recess to stay in and keep working at my desk. My classmates would have looked away in bewilderment as they fled out of the classroom to play four-square and Mrs. A would have wished that I had chosen a less abstract or complicated motif.
The utilitarian approach I just outlined is a bit contrary to my rather bohemian philosophy that "the journey is the destination" and one should not change one's standards or values for the sake of the mainstream. But it seems to hurt no one and it keeps me from getting lost in the details. Sometimes.
I realized recently that I already knew this to some extent in fourth grade. In May that year I was assigned by Mrs. A. to make a Mother's Day card for my mother. I considered for a brief agonizing minute picture, poem, pop-up, what to do? Then I realized that the real recipient of the card would not be my mother, but my teacher. For my mother we would plan something as a family, or I would make her breakfast in bed, or decorate her bedroom mirror. So, I just asked myself, what would Mrs. A want to hear?
About ten minutes later I brought my letter to her desk for approval. It displayed the straightforward, but overbearing style of writing that my teacher delighted in: "Thank you, Mom, for guiding me along the winding road of life. You are always there for me, and you shower me with love." Mrs. A liked my Mother's Day card so much that she got tears in her eyes, hugged me around the middle, and called for silence in the class so that she could read my composition aloud.
In a parallel scenario I could have made an off-beat, but sincere Mother's Day card there, and I would have given up recess to stay in and keep working at my desk. My classmates would have looked away in bewilderment as they fled out of the classroom to play four-square and Mrs. A would have wished that I had chosen a less abstract or complicated motif.
The utilitarian approach I just outlined is a bit contrary to my rather bohemian philosophy that "the journey is the destination" and one should not change one's standards or values for the sake of the mainstream. But it seems to hurt no one and it keeps me from getting lost in the details. Sometimes.
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