I’ve been perpetually busy for a while now. I know that the few women that are always asking me to hang out probably think I’m ghosting them at this point, and even though I’m not particularly eager to spend time with them, I probably would if I wasn’t so busy. I forget what it’s like to sit down and watch a movie or even read a physical copy of a book. I have a book next to my bed for before I go to sleep, but usually by then I’m too tired to digest what I’m reading.
This weekend I spent my entire weekend helping my friend make doors for his barn. It took the better part of both days. I really wasn’t looking forward to it because I need my weekends to work on my own place, but I had already told him I would help. Also, even though he is a busy person himself and I wouldn’t really ask him to ever help me on my house, he is a person with many valuable resources that he is always generous to let me use.
We made doors and they function and look really good. From the outside they look mostly flawless. There are a few inconspicuous flaws in them that really bother me. For some reason I’m always thinking about them and saying to myself,
I can do better.
My friend is really happy with how they came out. I will admit that they are aesthetically pleasing, but there is a lingering strive for perfection inside me that is toxic and strong enough to convince me I’m still no good; that I need to be better. If I’m doing my own projects I can start over as many times as I want until I achieve the level of perfection I need. When I’m working on other people’s stuff they will say “that’s fine, just leave it”.
Sometimes my brain has a way of convincing me that anything I do that is less-than-perfect is worthless. I will often remind myself that thinking like that is irrational, but my feelings aren’t alway so easily swayed towards my more rational side.