The Art (in) Perfectionism
Sometimes when I brush my teeth at night, I look down and inspect the sink in the bedroom where my toothbrush and paste are located. And unless I've just scrubbed it down until sparkling, I have an unheimlich feeling of horror while looking. It's almost never clean enough for my ablutions, and I hear myself questioning my self worth: what have you accomplished today, anyway? Your sink is dirty. You can do better. This is when I know that I stayed up too late and my tired voice is talking to me.... At this point I try to make a b-line to bed, surrendering to the sandman, hoping that my horror will stay at the sink and the sandman will caress me gently with kinder words. It didn't occur to me until today, while talking to a new student, that maybe perfectionism was the culprit. But this isn't wha...