Confessions of a (not quite) recovering perfectionist

There's a common thread amongst artists- most tend toward being perfectionists. I'm sure there are tons of reasons why satisfaction is so hard to come by for artists, I know a few; but no matter what the reason it is something we live with. Medium notwithstanding, there is no such thing as good enough.

I can't speak for others, but as a musician I can give you one of the big reasons I'm a perfectionist- music itself. In its written form music is perfect. The author conceived it and put it on paper just the way they desired it. Whether I or someone else composed it, the music on the paper in front of me is perfect. No matter how hard we try, though, as performers we cannot play a piece just as it is written. There are so many intangibles, so many things a composer would never expect you to translate the way you have on your instrument. The drive to meet the compositions ideal by your performance is the musician's poison.

A few months ago I was exploring some of my symptomatic triggers with my therapist. One line of his questioning led me to admit I get anxious after I make a decision on "perform" or depressed when I know a decision or "performance" was imperfect. He counseled me toward accepting my actions as "good enough". I'm not going to pretend like that worked- I immediately responded with "No!" We wrapped that up and moved on to something else.

I guess, though, psychologists know what they are doing. I started thinking about it after the session. I have continued to think about it, as is evidenced by this writing. I'll not say I have been able to accept everything I do that is good enough as good enough, not even close, but I have been able to accept a few things. I'll keep working on it and maybe one day I'll get there.

I've said it before, and I know it seems really cliche, but sometimes cliche is the only thing that fits. It works for addicts, and it works for a self-defeatist and perfectionist like me- "Lord grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."

Thinking, Feeling, Watching, and Waiting

If you were reading the other day and got concerned, I apologize. It wasn't something written to be frightening or gain sympathy, I wrote that for my friends who are struggling and feel alone. That was to let them know I still struggle with the same stuff, there are others of us still struggling, and none of us are alone. Sometimes the only thing we need we get so far down is to know we aren't the only ones who ever felt so despondent.

On to other matters. I was reading this article this morning, I think it was in Forbes, about the ten happiest professions. I realized, of the ten listed, I seriously considered seven. At the bottom of the article the writer listed the ten unhappiest professions- I selected number one. So let's think on this, I'm in college considering life directions and I have eight choices. Seven are from ten of the happiest and one is number one on unhappiest so the depressive picks unhappy. So of the twenty from both lists it is the best paying, but you end up miserable and spent. Story of my life.

I've been mentioning for some time that I believe my professional direction is changing. I know it is, but it's really all a matter of faith and timing for that to work out. Is that to say ending up in a miserable profession was the wrong thing? I don't believe that at all. I believe with everything I have that it was intentionally positioning me for today and tomorrow. There is no way any of today happens without yesterday, it's an undeniable truth no matter your system of belief.

Dealing with the truth of yesterday, today, and tomorrow is really the root of the issue with me. As a depressive I am naturally inclined to take the negative point of view. Reality, however is so incredibly different. Much like we perceive light as invisible, yet it carries every possible color; future is a spectrum. We can paint walls and choose the color made visible to us, we can paint the future to any shade we like.

My Reformed buddies are starting to look at me funny; no I'm not saying anything about free will. I dare not say anything is what we make it, rather it is how we view it. Choosing to see only the things that suck means everything sucks. On the other hand, choosing to see everything that's wonderful means everything's wonderful and unhealthy as well. Reality is everything that is both and neither, all working together for purpose.

So I purpose to dig out of this mire and see life in its ugliness and beauty, the ugliness in its beauty, and the beauty in its ugliness. May the light be clear, for color is reflected off of objects which would hinder the view.

Sometimes it Comes Back

Today is one of those days. I don't understand this disease, I hate this disease. Most days I think I know how it can be useful, but days like today are when it just doesn't make sense.

I seem to have lost all hope. I don't care about anything and see life as an obligation and not a joy. There is nothing here I need or want and all I do is suffer. Don't feed me your guilt and sob stories about how much my children need me, how much my wife loves me, and how much my family cares about me; I've heard it, I know it, and all I can see are obligations- joyless obligations. Drudgery.

If this sounds like a suicide note to you, you are right. No, I am not going to take my life but these pervasive thoughts make me want to. I'm so sick of having these feelings.

The exercise of writing it down doesn't make it more real, it is all plenty real. It does offer some ability to process, but I'm not sure how much. It doesn't make the feelings go away, it doesn't make me realize what I'm missing, it doesn't make me feel one ounce less burdened. What does it do? I have no clue.

I always have to go back, though, to Romans 8:26-39. You may or may not believe in God, Jesus, or anything else, but I guess I need that crutch. This disease causes the abandonment of internal sense of hope or peace. Apart from something I can look to outside myself I have nothing. Maybe that is the purpose- taking me apart from myself to see the face of Jesus so I can be His arms when someone needs something to hold on to.

Thank you, Lord, for holding me.