On Perfectionism

If something I say, do or create can enter the vicinity of others, I will always overthink and underplay it for fear of lacking the required clout. You could characterise this as insecurity or, at more of a stretch, as perfectionism. Although aiming for flawlessness feels productive, it's often unattainable when facing my dynamic incoming challenges in social interaction, romance and business.

My perfection pursuit makes me a terrible conversationalist. My internal speech filter will often sound like an officer of the law.

You do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.

I'm slow to text back because I can't without overthinking. I fear judgement of imperfect opinions, which hinders friendships and stalls romance.

I believe perfection in romance can't be achieved anyway, at least not outside of hindsight, wine-sight and loveisblind-sight. Passion is controlled by blustering impulsive winds that don't keep direction or pace. The best we can do is soar or battle towards functional and loving relationships, understanding the effort to do so will never end. Although my love life will never reach perfection, as a romantic I will keep on striving towards it.

In business, perfection isn't the goal, so shiny things outdo clarity. I'm discovering that rigour is less common than impulse and egotistical pride. Progression can be dirty, reached through context abuse rather than diligence. Rhetoric is easier to understand than process, so resonant deception is often propelled over the mechanics of good. I spend longer than necessary working on reports, satisfying a creative need to the detriment of cut-throat capital.

Blogging is a creative outlet with a lot more freedom. When writing I feel in control, as I can fail and improve until there's something I can be happy with. Like in life, I don't know where to go until I've been there. Unlike in life, if nice phraseology is hidden in a mountain of crap, the crap has no reason to still exist. My process is caressing up, addressing around and softly messing until the fruits of the moment become as fuzzy as the time between their conception and recreation. Blogging is a haven.