I remember as a kid doing some, shall I say, funny things. I mean come on, I was the only boy among five sisters; a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do to keep himself entertained. I remember one gloriously idiotic day in particular. I call it The Commencement of My Inner Evil Knievel.
My stepdad was rebuilding a deck onto the side of our house. Side note, the old deck came crashing down on top of my new Roadster bicycle and literally snapped it in half. I shall never forget that day. Hats off. A moment of silence for Roadster please.
Anyway, this deck was coming along nicely, and it would soon be a great place for grilling and relaxing on a cool night. I scurried outside to see what progress had been made, and I was surprised to see no railing on the deck. Of course, he had not quite finished the project, but I figured I’d try out the new deck anyway. Don’t jump to a conclusion. It’s not what you think.
I tiptoed my way up the stairs and onto the elevated platform. The north end of the deck was only about three feet tall; but since our house was built on a hill, the backend was much higher. Peering my head over the edge, I looked down to about an eight-foot drop. And then my genius struck me! Well, sort of.
I rushed inside and grabbed a beach towel out of the bathroom cabinet. Today was my day. I was going to be—drumroll please—a paratrooper. Yes, the guy that jumps out of airplanes and whistles back down to earth at exuberant speeds. It could have possibly been a slight inspiration from Mary Poppins, but I’ll stick with the manlier narrative.
I was ready. Towel—I mean, parachute—in hand. Determination on my brow, I was ready to fly! Que the slow-motion strut and hypothetical crowd cheering me on. If you’re going to do something stupid, you might as well do it in front of a crowd, right?
I inched over to the eight-foot edge of my life’s greatest challenge. I am pretty sure my life flashed before my eyes. It was a quick flash, seeing I was only about twelve, but sobering nonetheless. With a quick shuffle of my feet and both hands clasping all four corners of my make-shift parachute, I made a jump for it.
It worked! My plan actually worked!
And by working, I mean I plummeted to the ground with a complete air time of about half a second. I was motionless. I felt a slight ache flow through my body and a strong taste of dirt in my mouth. Ah! the taste of defeat.
I looked down to see the bone sticking out of my broken leg. No, I’m totally kidding. My story isn’t that awesome. Believe it or not, I walked away with minor cuts and bruises. My pride, of course, was the greatest wound of all.
What do I want you to see through this story? That I was completely insane? No.
I literally thought in my mind that I was going to fly around the yard using an old beach towel as a parachute. And though that’s funny now, back then I really believed it! My heart was convinced it was a probable feat, when in reality, it was completely impossible.
May I burst your bubble for a second? Perfection is impossible. We are finite beings with very limited abilities. No matter how exuberant, educated, or efficient our efforts are, we cannot touch a glimpse of perfection.
That is hard for many of us to swallow. As I mentioned in my Evil Kinevil saga, we actually believe that we can achieve the impossible.
If we could just plan far enough in advance, it would all work out.
If we just believe in our abilities intensely enough, then we will truly be satisfied with the result.
If we could reach perfection, then maybe we would feel like we are worth something of value.
There’s a toxic problem with that ideology. The emphasis is all on our own performance. It’s all about our ability or feeling of self-worth that drives an unending scurry to be the person we wish we were or live in a reality that is abstractedly impossible. We drive ourselves crazy by the standards we set for ourselves, and restlessness slowly slips in the back door unaware.
According to Psychology Today, this kind of thinking “is frequently accompanied by depression, anxiety, obsessive-compulsive disorder, eating disorders, and even suicidal impulses.” It is a mentality that can affect your mental and physical well-being and leave you—you guessed it—restless.
Before we get to the heart of this relentless drive, let’s take a look at some characteristics of a perfectionist. I am not a medical professional, so this is purely for informational purposes based on my personal experiences. Actually, I just stared in the mirror for twenty minutes and came away with the multiple personalities of a perfectionist. I’ll do my best to not write my autobiography here.