Perfectionism

An overthinker cannot start anything because there is no point in starting if that start is not executed perfectly. However, there is no way to know it was the perfect start if there was no start to begin with. 

So, for what it’s worth, this is my start.

I kind of laugh when my classmates humble-brag about their perfectionism because, as a life-long sufferer, I know it’s the rotten fruit of crippling overthinking. It is really what takes over that girl in your group project who thinks every aspect of the Google Slides presentation has to be flawless—

She doesn’t say it aloud to the rest of the group, but you know she’s on the verge of Googling “best font slideshow title page 10th grade history.” And don’t even get me started on her suggestions—“Maybe you should rewrite the introductory sentence on the seventh slide. It doesn’t flow with the rest of the script.” Flow with the rest? For a 5-minute class presentation on a description of the internet to someone from the 19th century?

But you can’t really blame her. I repeat, don’t blame me! After all, someone has to be the manager of font consistency and transitions throughout the project. Someone has to spend forty minutes outside of class tweaking all the mistakes nobody else cared to fix first, then wonder—only a bit resentfully—if it was even their job to do this in the first place, but it’s fine because “nobody else would do it.” It’s not an unhealthy obsession, it’s just…a preference for precision? Caring for the little things? Or whatever else sounds better than “the fear of imperfection.” That’s stupid. I could never fear those little details; they should fear me.

I just can’t help but notice them creeping up. Like how the full body of text on slide four isn’t centered, or how someone typed “effect” instead of “affect,” and I waited for someone else to notice and correct it, but of course, nobody said anything. I mean, I didn’t say anything out loud either. But I did notice. And then I fixed it during lunch, which wasn’t a big deal at all. Not because I care that much. It just bothered me a little. Slightly. In a healthy, meaningless, perfectly normal way.

And sure, maybe I changed someone’s sentence structure because it was run-on and WHO STILL DOES RUN-ONS IN HIGH SCHOOL, but that’s just me being a good team player. It’s not like it took that much time out of my day. It’s definitely not like I sat there at 11:47 p.m. thinking, “What if they think I’m controlling?”

No, I could never be controlling. I’m contributing. Quietly and passionately…knowing that I don’t need anyone to thank me, but if they did, I wouldn’t mind it. 

You’re welcome.