We are all perfectionists in one way or another.  As for me, I rarely see it in myself until I sit down to write something other than an e-mail or a journal entry or a to-do list.  I cannot just write a research paper for class.  I must write an excellent research paper.  Creative writing I do for pleasure must not simply be pleasurable; it must be perfect.

I wonder about these things in us, the things that bring out the perfectionist and the things that bring out the slacker.  I love writing, but I also love cooking, and I am a slacker sort of cook (a happy, whole-hearted slacker).  I am a poor housekeeper, but meticulously dust above doorways and all the floorboards.

I imagine we are all strange little spectrums and bursts of perfectionism and lax, some more this way or that.  Some more steady, some more a jumble.

What brings out the perfectionist in you?  What brings out the slacker?


2 thoughts on “perfection

  1. I’m so the same way, some things make me go crazy until they’re perfect, others I am much more relaxed about.

    I’d say I’m more of a perfectionist when it comes to cooking and baking. I try to google images for how things should look at different steps if I’m not sure, and I’ve been known to complain that the perfectly delicious cookies are shaped funny. I’m also a perfectionist about being tidy, not necessarily clean. I will make sure there aren’t books left around or clothes on the floor every day, but we only scrub down the floors and really give a good dusting every few weeks.

    I’m more relaxed about decorating the house. I know our tree isn’t magazine perfect, but I love it anyhow, and it’s beautiful the way it is. Same with the pictures and other pieces we have throughout the house. No one will be knocking down the door to photograph it anytime soon, but it feels like home and doesn’t look plain, and that’s all that matters to me.

  2. I totally get that! I’m the opposite when it comes to tidiness (I wish I wasn’t!). Try as I might, I don’t notice the little messes (that I am at fault for as much as the kids) that add up to chaos until it is too late and I have to spend most of my evening tidying up. My parents used to joke that they could tell where I was in the house by the absent minded trail of water-glasses and shoes.

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