Skip to main content

In pursuit of perfection

I'll admit it, I'm a closet perfectionist. I should be on a 12-step programme.  My only saving grace is that my pursuit of perfectionism only applies to myself. I'm far more tolerant of others; I enjoy other people's imperfections and tend to dislike perfection-seekers. Because, let's face it, perfect people are often very dull. Not to mention smug and often uptight. All of which is not very endearing.

So why do I persist in my pipe-dream of perfection? Why do I beat myself up when I act like an idiot (often), say stupid things (daily) and scream at Alpha and the kids like a fishwife (all the time)? Why do I feel cross and embarrassed every time I get lost when trying to read a map? Why do I over-apologise in a cringe-worthy fashion and feel ashamed whenever I'm late (being incapable of judging time can be a bit of a problem)? Why do I feel sick to my stomach whenever I've inadvertantly offended someone? Why do I feel utterly dumb when I play Trivial Pursuit and get a question wrong, or worse, don't know any of the answers? Why do I obsess about my strange knees, my stumpy legs and encroaching cellulite?

Frankly, why do I give a sh*t? Other people tend to do all of the above (probably) and worse, yet shrug it off and act as if they couldn't care less. And I've never observed the world falling on their heads. Plus their mothers still seem to love them. So it can't be that bad, right?

One of the most difficult things to come to terms with as you struggle through adulthood is the realisation that the attainment of perfection is impossible. I would never be so bold as to claim to have reached that particular state of grown-up-ness but I do seem to have moved on a bit from my last decade.

The best cure for perfectionists is to have kids. Perfectionists are invariably control freaks and, as anyone with a small human bean in their care will be aware, children introduce great big messy gobs of chaos into the most streamlined life. How you deal with it is up to you. The hard-core perfectionist will endeavour to shape their children into perfect packages in their own image - which can work for a while but the teenage years inevitably present a more difficult challenge. Others, like me (mildly neurotic but essentially rather lazy), eventually come to the realisation that they have to let go a bit and accept the fact that they're not perfect, will never be perfect, and that others will accept them despite (or perhaps because) of it.

Viva la imperfection! Personally, I'm working hard on nurturing my faults....

Click here for inspiration.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Apologies for being incommunicado this week and hope none of you out there are too distraught not to be receiving the usual almost-daily MotV missives. The reason for the silence is that I'm up to my neck, metaphorically-speaking, in research papers for my first grad course assessment. This experience has made me realise how rigorously un-academic I am in my thinking. It has also illuminated how reliant I am on red wine in order to get through endless evenings typing furiously on my laptop, not to mention the fueling of increasingly colorful curses that I feel obliged to aim at the University's online library system which consistently refuses to spit out any of the journals I'm desperate for (I refuse to believe this is 100% due to my technical incompetence...)Oh well, if this is the price one has to pay in order to realize a long-cherished dream then it's not all that bad... No one ever said a mid-life career change would be easy. Wish me luck!

Recommended & the Mahiki dance-off

My GFs and I went to Mahiki last night, great fun as usual but made me feel a bit old; it seems that Thursday night is the playground of the just-past-pubescent. Oh well. Good tunes though, so whatever.In between taking over the dancefloor - the youngsters may have youth on their side but frankly that shrinks to insignificance in the face of two decades of clubbing experience - one of my GFs and I got into a conversation about why so many people are full of bull.It appears that many people we come across are content to live their lives in a superficial way, skimming the surface of what life has to offer and equating the ownership of stuff (cars, houses, boats, jewelry, designer clothes) with happiness. They converse in terms of status, strut their possessions as a measure of their own self-worth, take themselves far too seriously, are quick to judge others, easily annoyed, complain a lot about very little and their worries seem to far outweigh their joys. Personally, I think all that…

Champix

Following on from the realisation that my lungs are filthy and if I don't give up the smokes soon I face a life of wheezing at best, off I trotted to see the charming Dr T.

Dr T, who's charming by virtue of the fact that he's less jaded than the other doctors in the surgery (in other words, he treats patients as if they're human beings with a right to NHS services rather than annoying fraudsters trying to gain sympathy for imaginary illnesses) promptly put me on potentially habit-forming drugs to get me off the evil weed. Something doesn't feel quite right about this but since I'm so pathetically grateful to have a doctor who's willing to give me more than two seconds of his precious time, I have acquiesced to his demands.

Anyway, this wonder drug is called Champix and promises to have me merrily chucking my smokes in the bin in no time. Or it will if I can get past the possible side effects, the highlights being abnormal dreams, nausea, flatulence, snoring, …