I fight perfectionism every cotton-pickin' day. What the hell? I even catch myself saying, "I am perfectly imperfect," as if in my dying breath of admitting imperfection I have to rally...."at least I'm perfect at being imperfect." Just give it up already I went to a seminar last week where the guy said that extraordinary results meant that some shit was going to be left undone at the end of the day and that there might even be messes. HOLD THE PHONE. Just give it up already.
I mentioned to my life coach: "You know, I think I might have a problem with perfectionism," and she gave me a "Ya think?" expression that clearly conveyed her message over Skype and hundreds of miles. But wow, what a relief to know that not everything I do has to measure up to the sky-high level of absolute awesomeness that I conjure up in my head. My dogs don't have to win medals at obedience, because realistically I need them to protect me, know 10-15 commands, and let me pee in private every once in awhile and even that's debatable. Lord knows (and trust me, He does) I'm not an athlete, so my goal isn't to win or even compete in any major competitions (even though I kinda want to). My book doesn't have to be perfect (*GULP*) and even this blog doesn't have to be. After all, I'm imperfectly imperfect.