A field guide to forgiving imperfection

I remember some early job interviews during which I was asked my greatest weakness. "Perfectionism," I would breezily pronounce, gauging it the perfect answer. It wasn't really a weakness, after all, because it meant I was always striving to be better. As weaknesses went, it seemed like a good one to have. How wrong I was. It's among the worst.

As Brene Brown has written, "Perfectionism... is the belief that if we look perfect and live and act perfectly, then we'll be able to shield ourselves from criticism, judgment or blame. This shield, in other words, is supposed to protect us against shame." Instead, it sets us up for a lifetime of pain and paralysis. We tend to choose what we can safely master rather than exposing our most unfinished, bold and individualistic dimensions. We become dependent on the undependable approval and acceptance of others. (Or, in my case, a hostage to my own impossible standards.) We see not what is good in ourselves and our progress but instead the myriad crushing ways we have missed our fantastical standards. As Brown says, "Perfectionism, despite sounding positive, isn't worth pursuing."

I recently read The Power of Full Engagement, in which Jim Loehr and Tony Schwartz discuss the case of Janet, a woman consumed by "the fierce hunger to avoid mistakes." That phrase struck a chord so deep I had to put down the book to deal with its gutting resonance. I have known that hunger well. It sometimes strips me of the will to create my best work. At other moments, it unleashes an army of inner critics who make a full time job of measuring the astronomical distance between my work and perfection.

All of this is to say, I've learned "my greatest weakness" is in fact a great weakness. And I've been on a lifelong journey to overcome the insidious way it smothers daring and dulls my most unfettered and distinctive work.

Here is what I've learned: the only remedy to the fierce hunger to avoid mistakes is a fierce determination to forgive mistakes. Ann Patchett, whom I quote so often on this topic because she understands it so deeply, has written, "Forgiveness. The ability to forgive oneself. Stop here for a few breaths and think about this because it is key to making art and very possibly the key to finding any happiness in life. I can't write the book I want to write. But I can and will write the book I am capable of writing. Again and again, over the course of my life, I will forgive myself."

My father, who is a psychiatrist, once advised me not to take reality as personal insult. This is especially important for creative people. A creative person puts so much of herself or himself in the work that it's hard not to take imperfection personally.

So we must let go of the disappointing delta between the dream of perfection and the reality of imperfection and then forgive ourselves for being a reflection of the real world. But what then?

Instead of measuring the distance from perfection, I find it powerful to measure the distance from my starting point by asking:

• Did I make any kind of progress?
• Did the effort change me or others for the better?

When I wrote my book on marketing, I reached the halfway point before I realized exactly what I needed to say and how I needed to say it - which was unfortunately not reflected in the 100 pages I'd written. I knew all that work had to be trashed. The only thing that got me through the work ahead was the act of asking myself these two questions. I went ahead and finished the second half the better way and started over on the first half with the knowledge that even the worst of my work had signified progress. Plus, the effort of it all had turned me into the writer who could get to something good (if still imperfect). Every act was a step forward in that way, even when it felt like retreat. The journey had changed me for the better, whatever its direction. I hadn't arrived at perfect but I'd arrived at better. I forgave myself for that destination.

It is a deeply worthy exercise to substitute the exhaustive review of what isn't quite perfect with an equally rigorous inquiry into the merits of our imperfection. Life is far happier, progress is far greater and our work is far better when we are liberated by this reckoning. How wonderfully apt that we are closer to perfect when we abandon all hope of perfection.