I’ve spent the past few days trying to organize a book shelf.
To most, that’s a process that wouldn’t take days, but minutes, but for someone like me who’s ‘perfection’ meter seems to be higher than others, it takes days.
It’s all about setting a balanced aesthetic; the top shelf has to balance with the shelf below it, and the left side needs to balance the right side. The colors need to coordinate, and each space should be able to tell a small story of the stories that it contains.
Or that’s how my mind works anyway, which is why this process is taking me days.
Sometimes I wonder how much my perfections inconvenience those around me. If I put something a certain way because it looks good, but maybe isn’t as functional, who’s way am I getting in? If I put something another way, while it still looks good of course, but is set in a way that’s hard to return to its previous position after it’s used, how much am I creating stress to those around me who know that once they take something off a shelf, they won’t be able to put it back exactly like it way?
Of course, I’ll notice, and of course, I’ll put it back to the way I had it, not selfishly out of frustration that it’s ‘not right,’ but out of a sense of needing things to feel ‘perfect.’
Perfection is my problem. At times, I can only imagine how many problems it causes those around me. I know the saying is, “Strive for perfection,” but sometimes I think I need to strive more for things being okay with how they are.
-Cliff
Cliff’s Note: You can’t be perfect. Because chaos reigns.