I’m not exactly sure when I started writing poetry. It was definitely some time before high school since I was in the writing club as a poet by that point in time. When I got back from the military, writing poetry turned into writing lyrics and the music that went with the words. My personal discography is up to ten studio collections of music varying from folk to heavy metal at this point. Writing books, articles, sermons, columns, and blogs is fairly new comparatively speaking.
I was talking with a good friend recently about our early written works versus later ones, and the complicated feelings we have about our older material. I’ll admit that when I listen to my recordings from 20 years ago, sometimes it makes me cringe a little. I find the lyrics clunky and terribly short-sighted in places. But then I remember: I was in my early 20s. My prefrontal cortex hadn’t even finished forming at that point. Of course the lyrics are short-sighted. Likewise, I’ve learned a lot more about writing in the two decades between that moment and this one. I’d do things differently if I were exploring the same subjects in my lyrics now.
But I find that where I’ve ultimately landed when it comes to my early work is grateful. I’m the survivor of an abusive first marriage and one of the things that can happen as a result of severe psychological abuse is gaps in memory. I’m missing most of ages 20 to 30. My early work is one of the few ways I can connect to the person I was during those years. The material isn’t perfect, but that imperfection has become one of the things I love the most about it. I can hear how hopeful I was, where my spiritual development was at that time, and what my vision for life was like. Those recordings are a gateway to a person – a real, imperfect person who was doing what she could with what she’d been given. I think even without my memory loss I would be glad that there’s this moment in time crystallized in the amber of recorded music. When I listen to those songs, it’s a little bit like having a conversation with the person I was twenty years ago.
One of the quotes relating to perfectionism that I absolutely love is by Ram Dass, the late American spiritual teacher, psychologist, and writer. “[W]hen you go out into the woods and you look at trees, you see all these different trees. And some of them are bent, and some of them are straight, and some of them are evergreens, and some of them are whatever. And you look at the tree and you allow it. You appreciate it. You see why it is the way it is. You sort of understand that it didn’t get enough light, and so it turned that way. And you don’t get all emotional about it. You just allow it. You appreciate the tree. The minute you get near humans, you lose all that. And you are constantly saying “You’re too this, or I’m too this.” That judging mind comes in. And so I practice turning people into trees. Which means appreciating them just the way they are.”
I’m not sure that the opposite of perfection is imperfection. I think the opposite of perfection might be connection. That when we allow for complexity and authenticity in ourselves and others, the barriers to relationships start to melt away.
I had one of the coolest jobs in the military when I was in the Marine Corps. I worked for the Armed Forces Network as a journalist in Okinawa, Japan. I began in the newsroom, but my sense of humor and irreverence got me moved to radio. If you’ve seen “Good Morning, Vietnam,” that was basically my job. I was a radio DJ – I played music, delivered the news, did interviews, and made people laugh. While I was stationed in Okinawa, there was a “Best of” contest for all the military bases in the Pacific rim. Military Radio DJ was one of the categories.
One of the other DJs at my station had a radio persona that was super cool and smooth, complete with a false “radio voice.” My presence on the radio, however, was very similar to my presence here or anywhere I speak or teach. Imperfect. I would make mistakes, laugh at myself, joke about needing more coffee…I would simply be myself on the radio.
The other DJ took it really hard when I won the category of “Best Military DJ” not just for Okinawa, but for the entire Pacific rim. Even then, I understood why he didn’t do well in the contest. “Cool people,” which we can also interpret as “perfect people,” aren’t relatable. They’re not who we actually want to talk to or hang out with. Magnificently imperfect humans really are the ones we like. Relatability is one of the roots that connection grows from. That other DJ didn’t lose because he was a bad DJ. He lost because his radio persona was unrelatable.
It was a good lesson to see played out early in my life and career. I haven’t always won my inner battles with perfectionism, but I’ve held onto the lesson that authenticity is better than perfection when it comes to connecting with people.
Another quote that I love about perfectionism comes from Rev. Carl Gregg, the minister of the Frederick UU. I’ve heard him say some variation on “We have already been saved from perfection by the virtue of being human,” on more than one occasion. It’s a funny thought exercise – I don’t think most of us consider perfection a threat we need to be saved from. But, it really is when you start to dig a little deeper.
I can’t begin to tell you how many people I’ve talked to who have written books but not published them, created music but never shared it, had amazing ideas for inventions or stories or any number of other creative outlets but never pursued them because they think their work isn’t good enough. Or they are so poisoned by the idea of perfectionism that they never even set brush to canvas or word to page in the first place. They already believe they will fail before they try.
What are we depriving ourselves of? I’m a lifelong member of the weirdo creative part of the world and I don’t know a single artist who considers their work perfect. If that was the barrier to putting art into the world, we would have nothing. No music. No stories. No paintings. These missed opportunities destroy more than just art, though. I’ve known people who struggled with joining a community because they considered themselves too flawed. Or they didn’t think other people could be tolerant of their limitations. I’ve spoken to community leaders who struggle with imposter syndrome, the pernicious twin sibling of perfectionism, even while they are actively doing the very hard work of serving their community. How many friendships never blossomed? How many people are missing from this room right now who might thrive in this beloved community? The cost of perfectionism is high indeed.
When we let go of perfection, we’re finally able to be fully present to what is. To see the world and the amazing beings in it as it exists now, not as some authority figure or social conditioning decrees that it “should” be. We know from behavioral science that individual happiness and life satisfaction is improved by the more authentic, personal connections we have with others. When we let go of trying to be perfect, we create space to be vulnerable and truly authentic with others. Our authenticity then frees our friends and loved ones to be their gloriously imperfect selves in return. The end result is healthier bonds – honest ones that allow for all the challenges that come with being human.
My personal faith path is Heathenry, a form of Paganism rooted in the pre-Christian practices of ancient Scandinavia, Iceland, and Germanic Europe. One way our faith is informed is by seeking wisdom from what written records we have. One of those records is the Hávamál, and I’ve always found stanza 71 to be meaningful:
A limping man can ride a horse,
a handless man can herd,
a deaf man can fight and win.
When we honor imperfection and limitations in our communities, our communities become stronger. People feel empowered to contribute in the way they can, and those contributions are valued for the gift they are. We’re better able to live our shared UU Value of Pluralism: “We celebrate that we are all sacred beings, diverse in culture, experience, and theology. We embrace our differences and commonalities with Love, curiosity, and respect.”
Another thing Reverend Carl sometimes says is “Perfect is the enemy of good.” More and more in my own work, I’ve come to embrace “good enough.” I’m trying to live into the knowledge that I have already been saved from perfection, so I can just focus on being good. Writing good material, coordinating good events, doing good readings…I don’t need me to be perfect. That’s not what people want from me, and if I were perfect, I wouldn’t be as loved as I am.
So, how do we do this? How do we start letting go of such a deep piece of programming?
The first step for most people is managing our self-talk and challenging our own behavior. We need to recognize perfectionism when it rears its ugly head. Some good questions can be:
Is the outcome I’m aiming for realistic or even possible?
Is this activity, product, or creation good?
Would I apply the expectations I’m setting on myself to a friend or loved one?
Is my fear of failure interfering with my ability to connect?
Another approach is to set time limits for tasks. When the timer goes off, the task is finished regardless of how far you’ve gotten on it. This is one I apply to a lot of my written work. I tend to gild the lily endlessly without some boundaries. We can also set realistic goals – goals that are well within our capability.
One of my favorite personal techniques in deprogramming my own perfectionism is to consciously choose to try something new and be comfortable with being bad at it. I like to take classes in things I have no intention of turning into a major hobby or line of work. Blacksmithing. Pottery. Glass-blowing. It’s a ton of fun and I learn to screw up, laugh about it, and enjoy the process of learning without putting myself into a perfection pressure cooker. Investing time and energy into multiple pursuits also keeps us from getting hyperfixated on one area of focus.
Lastly, one thing I’ve come to do through my own journey with perfectionism is admit when I’m wrong, or when I made a mistake, pretty freely. I screw up all the time, but that doesn’t make me a bad person. It just makes me human. And I know now that if I never make a mistake, I’ll never learn anything. Admitting when I’m wrong, when I’ve made a mistake, or when I’ve failed has been a powerful healer to my own fear of failure. I know I’ve been successful in owning my mistakes simply because the joke about “someone write it down, she just admitted she’s wrong” doesn’t happen anymore.
As with every light, there is shadow, though. Acknowledging our limitations and releasing perfectionism is a good thing. That said, I have seen a few people use their limitations or challenging personal issues as justification for treating others poorly. Authenticity has a sibling: personal responsibility. And these two do best together. I am not responsible for my anxiety disorder, or for the post traumatic stress disorder I developed as a result of my first marriage. But, I am responsible for managing my mental health in a way that allows me to live fully and with as little harm to others as possible. For me, that means medication, therapy, a lot of time outside, meditation, yoga, and more. It means recognizing when a fear is controlling me, or when a trigger is flaring, and self-parenting the wounded parts of me so that no one else has to pay for what happened to me. The cost was high enough as is.
As our UU Shared Values state: “Love is the power that holds us together and is at the center of our shared values. We are accountable to one another for doing the work of living our shared values through the spiritual discipline of Love.” So I invite you into imperfection with me. Into connection with me. Into being gloriously incomplete works in progress with awkward moments, failures, and hearts and spirituality guided by love.
We have been saved from perfection. Where will your magnificent imperfection and loving heart take you next?
This sermon was offered at the Unitarian Universalist Church of Hagerstown on Sunday, July 28th, 2024.
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