I am Not a Perfectionist
I am not a perfectionist. No, I am the most chill person you will ever meet.
I am so patient that sometimes I forget what I’m even waiting for.
I am so Type B that I don’t even know what that means.
I don’t carry stress in my shoulders and neck, nor do I grit my teeth.
The little details don’t bother me much.
It’s not about winning, I just like playing the game.
I genuinely enjoy the quiet of my own mind.
I don’t see reflections of myself in that neurotic George Costanza character.
I accept my flaws and shortcomings. We’re all human, after all.
I understand that being “the best” is both subjective and fleeting.
I do not need others to validate and affirm that I am good. All my self-confidence comes from within.
I don’t waste time and effort trying to influence situations at home and work. I accept that most things are beyond my sphere of control.
I do not get weighed down by deep and intimate failure. These are just opportunities to learn.
I am rarely told that I should relax and be more leisurely. Making time for myself comes naturally.
I am never too hard on myself, set the bar too high or set unrealistic expectations for myself.
I give myself a break.
I give myself a break.
This is satire written by a recovering perfectionist who’s learning how to live better. For others who struggle with aspects of perfectionism, I leave you with this quote:
“Oh my God, what if you wake up some day, and you’re 65 or 75, and you never got your memoir or novel written; or you didn’t go swimming in warm pools and oceans all those years because your thighs were jiggly and you had a nice big comfortable tummy; or you were just so strung out on perfectionism and people-pleasing that you forgot to have a big juicy creative life…of imagination and radical silliness and staring off into space like when you were a kid?
It’s going to break your heart. Don’t let it happen.”