As a perfectionist in recovery, one of the biggest challenges I’ve faced over the years is the simple act of getting my ideas out. The inspiration is easy. It’s the other part, the “rational brain,” that’s the kill joy. In many ways it feels as if my brain is comprised of two sisters — and if the dreamy, starry-eyed, idea generator is the brave little sister, the braying voice that says, “Is that actually realistic?” is from the horse-toothed, uptight eldest who’s clearly never been asked to the dance.
Often, before I can even get the thought over the threshold, the naysayer is already whispering: “I don’t know if you’re good enough yet to really do it justice.”
Seriously. If you opened the notes app on my phone, dug up the crumpled-up papers in the bottom of my purse, and collected all the forgotten lists in all the forgotten notebooks in my closets and drawers, you’d find an elephant graveyard of ideas. Some of these them have simply just been transferred over to new lists, as if begging, “For the love of god, just do something with me already.”
I’m grieved at all the many wasted creative years where I was too locked up to make anything. I’m sad that for a long time the only thing I could do was write it down. But part of my recovery is finding grace and kindness for the many versions of myself.
This experience is a cousin to, but certainly not identical to “writer’s block,” which of course is not owned solely by the writers of the world, but makers of all stripes. The inspiration part has never been the issue. It’s the opposite. Shadows of stories and the fleeting tiger tails of imagination are always moving on my periphery— many are half-baked, but still, I have so many images and thoughts to work with, and yet I have so often sat at my desk and become completely paralyzed with questions and thoughts, like:
Should I use oil or watercolor? Maybe I’ll start with pencils… to be safe. Maybe my style isn’t a good fit for this… Damn, do I need a new style? If I’m really going to do this the right way, I need to take that class I saw online, the one about making more dynamic characters…
Before I know it, I’m comparing myself to all my creative idols, and to the hundreds of illustrations and paintings I’ve saved as references. I often find myself so deep in the rabbit hole that when I look way up at the tiny pinprick of light above, where I’ve fallen in, I realize I can’t even remember what it was I was so excited about to begin with. Ultimately, I convince myself that today isn’t a good day to start this kind of project, and that I’d be better off if I made a snack, or went for a run, or answered a text message — or best of all, if I curled up in this dark little hole and died from my utter lack of ability.
The Voice of The Oppressor
I recently discovered the writer Anne Lamott, who in her book, Bird by Bird wrote:
“Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life, and it is the main obstacle between you and a shitty first draft. I think 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. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren't even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they're doing it.”
Researcher and storyteller Brené Brown has said, “If perfectionism is driving the car, then shame is riding shotgun and fear is the nagging backseat driver.”
These are arrows to the heart. I have felt both cramped and insane for as long as I can remember. Fear and shame are two extremely familiar road trip companions — ones who never bring the good snacks and always pick the worst radio stations, and who I’m more than ready to kick to the curb. They are responsible for too many shitty first drafts, first sketches, first passes I wouldn’t allow myself to start or ever finish (and if I did finish, I often didn’t feel like as if it were good enough to share.)
And sadly, there’s certainly lots of fun I’ve missed out on trying to make sure I landed those steppingstones just right. When you think about it, it’s small potatoes. It’s just a drawing or a story after all. No one’s life is at stake. It should be fun, right? Right?!!!
The Root of Perfectionism
When I look more closely, I understand that my own perfectionism is the symptom of a more pervasive condition: the desire to succeed. Which, I believe is a symptom of an even baser, human desire: wanting, very desperately, to be seen.
“Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life, and it is the main obstacle between you and a shitty first draft. I think 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”
The funny thing about all of this is the mindset shift for these kinds of things we’ve heard again and again:
It’s the journey not the destination.
Progress not perfection.
The process is the goal.
I don’t know about you, but sometimes you hear something repeated so many times and printed on so many bad dentist office posters, you don’t even know what it means anymore. Maybe I wasn’t ready to hear it, or to look at my discomfort square in the eye, but I’ve come to understand that the best medicine for this kind of creative constipation is play, and God damnit, it’s having some fun.
Here’s where I planned to insert a quote that I really loved when I first read it. It was by a famous writer, but I can’t remember who, and I can’t remember exactly what it said, so instead of procrastinating any further let’s INSERT IMAGINARY QUOTE HERE from someone notable. Let’s try something like, “Forget working at it. Meditate in the act of play.”
The Magic of Personal Projects
Karl & The Terribly Fantastic Beard, 2024
It's hard to remember how to play when you’re busy being A Very Serious Creative Person. But it’s never too late to remember what you’ve forgotten (which I’m pretty sure is a real quote). So, in the spirit of play, and my rededication to quitting perfectionism, I’ve recently turned my attention back to one of those ideas that just will not go away, no matter how hard I’ve tried to leave it behind.
Karl & The Terribly Fantastic Beard is about a lonely man named Karl who lives with his cat and giant tortoise in a train car by the sea. While he enjoys his garden and his small companions, Karl very much wants to explore the world, but isn't quite sure how. When his beard mysteriously comes to life and begins entering them into beard competitions across the country, things begin getting a bit wild for Karl.
This personal project, has been a mainstay across all those many lists, and it’s been the better part of a decade that this story has taken root in my mind and my heart.
But for a long time, the cynical older sister really had the wheel on this one… I convinced myself that I wasn’t good enough yet to really do it justice. Then, I told myself the story didn’t make sense anyways. It feels like I’ve started and restarted this project hundred times only to abandon it again because it’s been suggested by the Rule Makers and Powers That Be it doesn’t quite fit into any of the right boxes. Maybe they’re right; and yet, this small, strange story doesn’t seem to care.
Karl is far from the pushy sort, yet he seems adamant his story be told. But, on second thought, I’m not sure it’s actually Karl who keeps tugging at my sleeve. It’s most certainly Karl’s mischievous, enchanted beard (named “Beard,” of course) who’s been pushing the agenda.
In the story, Beard shows up and helps Karl save himself, and just maybe in some way Beard is doing the same for me, too.
Karl and Beard have gone through quite the evolution over the last nearly 10 years. You can see I dug up some of my sketches and “shitty first drafts,” here (this act alone was wonderful medicine, and I will likely write about post about that in the future):
Finding The Antidote
Anne Lamott was recently interviewed on the Ted Radio Hour, “Addiction, Motherhood, and Jesus,” which was how I stumbled across her book, Bird by Bird. It was a fantastic interview (I highly recommend a listen) about in not only writing, but also addiction and recovery. Lamott’s attributes part of her recovery to surrender.
In the interview she said, “My way, trying to nudge life and people into submission with my sensitivity and excellent ideas, leaves me exhausted. The antidote is to surrender, lay down my sorry weapons and step over to the winning side of friends, service, and fresh air. I open the windows. I savor the fresh air whenever I remember to open them. The fresh air breeze — the whole house.”
The interviewer, Manoush Zomorodi, asked Lamott to explain this philosophy a little bit more. She asked, “Is it, like, the thing where, like, you're trying so hard to get that job of your dreams, and the minute you stop caring, that's when you get the offer, that kind of thing?”
Lamott said, “Well, it's not when you stop caring because that might not ever happen. But for me, it's when I unclench my grip on it and when I start to release, and I start to breathe again. And I just have faith that whatever is supposed to happen is going to happen because it's the only thing that can happen a lot of the time. It's when I release it and stop breathing my hot breath down its neck...”
When I heard that line, I was at a stop light, and I found myself clutching my chest and laugh-crying out loud. I’ve been breathing my hot, stinking breath down the neck of desire. To have my stories and my art accepted by the aforementioned Powers That Be, and frankly I’m feeling out of breath. I’m ready (I think) to unclench the grip. To let go. To play. To let what’s gonna happen, happen.
I think personal projects are a wonderful playground. And so, Karl and The Terribly Fantastic Beard — this little personal project that’s taken root in me — is my meditation on letting go and forgetting the rules.
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