I procrastinated a lot before finally sitting down and writing this article. I watched hours of Netflix. I went to Zumba what felt like a thousand times. I stared out my window. I worked on other stuff. I ate food. Mostly, I watched Netflix.
I think pretty much everyone knows this feeling. Glassy-eyed, watching the cursor blink on your computer screen, anxiety sitting on your chest like a cement block.
Ironically, this article is supposed to be about perfectionism: where we learned it, how it sort of wrecked our lives, and then possibly, how we can mitigate its impact.
This week, while I let this blank word document fester on my desktop, I decided to investigate this concept the only way I really know how: by a combination of talking to my therapist, consulting my tarot, getting ideas from friends, thinking about my childhood, generally getting in touch with my feelings, and consuming large amounts of caffeine (and a touch of adderall—just a touch).
The results of my investigation are as follows.
My friend gave me a quote from author, Elizabeth Gilbert, She said, “Perfectionism is fear in high-heeled shoes.” I immediately set a weekly reminder of this quote on my phone.
“The best part about the real world? No one cares about you anymore. You aren’t “the future.” Your GPA is done. No one is keeping track of you (except data analysts).”
Perfectionism is, at its core, fear of failure. We strive for perfection (instead of excellence), because the alternative is unbearable. The alternative is that we are not worthy. Perfectionism is fear made presentable to ourselves, and therefore everyone else. It sounds like, “I won’t write that screenplay because I will never be as perfect as Charlie Kauffman,” or prefacing every endeavor with, “I did this thing, but it’s really stupid, so don’t have high expectations.” For the record, Charlie Kauffman is every bit as insecure and weird as you are.
Underneath the layers of conscious thought and decision making, fear of failure has motivated an enormous amount of my actions. When I was a kid, starting at around age seven, I was doing extracurricular activities at least five days out of the week. I did dance, piano, soccer, Girl Scouts, basketball, theatre, swim team, and also made straight A’s (most of the time). It was insane. I never had time to actually enjoy anything I did because I was so worried about finishing it in time and getting to the next thing. I performed my whole life, doing and achieving for the sake of it.
The reasons for this madness are threefold: my dad, for better or for worse, pushed me a lot. I was basically competent at these things, and I was desperately afraid of who I would be if I didn’t do all of them. I put one egg in each basket, so if something happened, if I failed (or perceived that I failed) at any of these activities, I had a backup.
When I didn’t make the best select soccer team, I knew I had dance in my back pocket. When I saw the other dancers in my class memorizing combinations at lightning speed, and being able to hold their developés above their waists for eight counts, I knew I always had theatre. And when I didn’t get cast, I fell back on my grades. Constantly leaping from one thing to the next, never staying long enough to feel disappointed in myself.
In college, after being educated by those more knowledgeable and exhausted than myself, I learned about the term privilege. I certainly had (and continue to have) a whole bunch of it. I recognize that being able to do all these activities costs money (whether we could really afford it or not). It took having a father who made his own schedule and could shuttle me around to everything. It took having an annoying bougie intellectual family, who deeply cared about me being a well-rounded person. It took not having a learning disability or any chronic illnesses.
However, acknowledging how lucky I am, while important, doesn’t really solve this problem. At the end of the day, I was still paralyzed with fear. Discovering I wasn’t really that good at any of the activities I did was my worst nightmare. Real curiosity was replaced with a to-do list on which I could check off items with a satisfying stroke of my pen. When this to-do list was done, I watched Disney Channel until my eyes fell out. Later, I binge drank.
In my post-grad life, I’ve come to understand many things I wasn’t ready to accept while I was in the safe claustrophobic pod that was school (the subject of 10,000 other articles and think pieces written by college educated millennials). The “real” world is a cold, dark, lonely, but ultimately liberating place. Other than the systemic and societal oppression many of us face to varying degrees, I would say that the real world is kind of awesome. I mean, it’s terrifying and difficult, but the upsides are, as they say, pretty dope.
The best part about the real world? No one cares about you anymore. You aren’t “the future.” Your GPA is done. No one is keeping track of you (except data analysts). You think other people are paying attention, but generally, they’re just trying to cope with their own mortality the best they can. Even if they gossip about you, tell you what you’re doing is wrong or stupid or not enough, you are not actually important to them, because their own lives are all-consuming.
Whatever response people have to your life is entirely based on their perception of their own lives, which ultimately doesn’t concern you. The people who actually care about your well being, your soul’s happiness, will not care what you achieve, how many things you do, or what those things are.
If you want to make an actual difference, trash the notions of success and failure. Trash. Them. Rewards in this world are few, far between, and are rarely enough (money). We do not live in a meritocracy. Often, people rise to the top for reasons unknown. There are geniuses languishing in circumstances that provide no resources to help them cultivate their talents.
I’ve brushed shoulders with people whose financial and familial situations held them back from pursuing their highest potential. These are people who are much smarter and more hard working than I am. In school, we think the rules makes sense, or at least I did. I felt safe and validated because of them. In reality, there were never any rules.
Finally writing this article (finishing that screenplay, auditioning for that role, talking to that guy, wearing that dress) took one main thing: releasing fear of failure. Releasing my idea of what failure even means. I remind myself every Friday night at 7:00: “Perfectionism is fear in high heeled shoes.” And on the other side of perfectionism, is faith in yourself, the only thing that never leaves.
Natalie Houchins is a graduate of Northwestern University, with
degrees in Theatre and Gender & Sexuality Studies. She is a writer and
actress based out of LA, who is perennially homesick for Austin, TX.
She currently spends her free time hiking, watching Battlestar
Galactica and resisting the Trump administration. For more information, visit her website: www.nataliehouchins.com.