How I Cured Myself of Perfectionism
Perfect no more and loving life as I learn to embrace my mistakes
I am having a problem with my garden. The spot where my tomatoes once flourished, just along the side of the green stucco wall of my garage, is now producing substandard tomatoes.
The plants that used to produced plump red and orange cherry tomatoes now give me fruit no bigger than a pea.
I water and caress the vines and beg them to grow. I do whatever I can to help. I let the sunshine and soil do the rest. But nothing helps.
Every day the overripe pea tomatoes fall from their perches into a pile under the vines. I stare at them, wondering whether it’s worth picking them up. What can I do with underdeveloped imperfect fruit while still dreaming of the perfect cherries?
What is it about us that looks for the perfect?
We want it in gardens, our work, and even our partners. Why are we programmed to desire the perfect?
I know I am not perfect, but I am trying really hard to be perfect, and it’s exhausting.
