It’s early Wednesday morning. I’m staring at the computer screen.
Draft for this week’s Friday newsletter: blank.
Generally, at this point, I would have a decent draft pending the finishing touches. This week, I don’t. I didn’t start as early as usual.
I feel uneasy. I dislike being unprepared. I want perfection.
“But what is perfection?” I ask.
“Flawless work done ahead of schedule. You are running out of time. Why aren’t you focused?”
I have more questions. I want to know what flawless means. I want to know what happens if the work isn’t perfect, but answers aren’t coming.
I keep my hands moving, writing pages and pages. But the harder I try, the further away perfection seems.
As I struggle, a quote from writer Anne Lamott comes to mind:
Perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping stone just right, you won’t have to die.
I let that sink in for a second. Then I conclude:
Yes, I am behind schedule. No, I don’t know what I’m writing yet. What I write this week will not be perfect, but it doesn’t matter because perfection is impossible anyway.