Perfectionism, which by its very nature includes 'striving', used to be the bane of my life. I'm not sure why this trait developed in me, but I know that it grew and hardened in me as a result of the school I attended, where expectations of outstanding levels of achievement in every area were the norm. It coloured every aspect of my life, from the orderly state of my bedroom to my long hours of self-prompted practice on violin and piano until I was note-perfect, not withstanding moments where I would bash the keys in frustration or throw the violin down (on the bed, fortunately). I was hugely self-critical, much more than I was critical of others, but, as is the case with perfectionists, also hugely dissatisfied with life. My stories, which to begin with I wrote with great pleasure and abandon from about age seven onwards, became increasingly straight-jacketed by my own expectations of an impeccable finished product. By the time I was thirteen, I let nobody read my work. By the time I was fifteen, I had a dozen edits of my latest novel, none completed, each tighter and less able to breathe than the last. Yes, I ended up with good prose. I also ended up with dead stories.
I love that I can put all that in the past tense.
It took me a very long time, probably about 20 years, to throw off this
perfectionist mantle and stop trying so damned hard. And lo and behold, I began to write again, I
began to paint again, I picked up the harp.
I'm sure I have become much easier to live with, and life has become
fulfilling and capacious, and spontaneity has become my life-blood.
'Our
excessive focus in the modern world on the power of conscious thought and the
benefits of willpower and self-control causes us to overlook the pervasive
importance of what might be called “body thinking”: tacit, fast, and
semiautomatic behavior that flows from the unconscious with little or no
conscious interference. The result is that we too often devote ourselves to
pushing harder or moving faster in areas of our life where effort and striving
are, in fact, profoundly counterproductive.'
Edward Slingerland, author of 'Trying Not to Try, the
Art and Science of Spontaneity'.
Slingerhand describes an ancient Chinese philosophy that encapsulates the art of 'not trying', called 'wu-wei':
'Wu-wei literally
translates as “no trying” or “no doing,” but it’s not at all about dull
inaction. In fact, it refers to the dynamic, effortless, and unselfconscious
state of mind of a person who is optimally active and effective. People in wu-wei
feel as if they are doing nothing, while at the same time they might be
creating a brilliant work of art, smoothly negotiating a complex social
situation, or even bringing the entire world into harmonious order. For a
person in wu-wei, proper and effective conduct follows as automatically
as the body gives in to the seductive rhythm of a song. This state of harmony
is both complex and holistic, involving as it does the integration of the body,
the emotions, and the mind. If we have to translate it, wu-wei is
probably best rendered as something like “effortless action” or “spontaneous
action.” Being in wu-wei is relaxing and enjoyable, but in a deeply
rewarding way that distinguishes it from cruder or more mundane pleasures.'
Maria Popova adds: 'Western thought has suffered from centuries of oppressive dualism, treating intuition and the intellect as separate and often conflicting faculties - a toxic myth that limits us as a culture and as individuals. Fortunately, Slingerland points out, recent decades have brought a more embodied view of cognition acknowledging the inextricable link between thought and feeling and debunking, as Ray Bradbury so eloquently did, the false divide between emotion and rationality.'I find the following statement by Slingerland a huge relief, since it is something I long suspected myself:
'We have been taught
to believe that the best way to achieve our goals is to reason about them
carefully and strive consciously to reach them. Unfortunately, in many areas of
life this is terrible advice. Many desirable states — happiness,
attractiveness, spontaneity — are best pursued indirectly, and conscious
thought and effortful striving can actually interfere with their attainment.'
Here is the
link in full if you are interested in exploring this further:http://www.brainpickings.org/2014/04/21/trying-not-to-try-slingerland/
As for me, I am now a largely happy imperfect human being who is learning to embrace my failings and use them to reach other imperfect human beings. And quite frankly, hanging around perfect human beings is tedious, and produces nothing but feelings of inadequacy and self-denigration.
2 comments :
This is a good philosophy for a contented life. I don't think I suffer from perfectionism - probably more like 'good-enoughism' or 'she'll be rightism' but most of the perfectionists I know seem to be slightly dissatisfied people, not completely happy with themselves, or with other people. Is this because they expect others to be perfect too? Your experiences and honest self-analysis certainly shed light on the problem. Thank you Julie Dawn. And I do like your name - you must have nice parents.
Ha, that made me laugh. Great comment, thank you. And yes, I would say perfectionists always expect perfection from others to some degree, the usual result of which is that nobody feels they quite measure up.
Yup, my parents did pretty well selecting that name. You should meet them some time. I think you'd get on well.
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