Active Over Perfect
Paralyzed in my own perfectionism, I tell myself to start moving. A small step here, a bigger step there. Put the clothes on, put the key in the ignition, show up.
There is no perfect way to climb a mountain. You just do it. There is a path and a peak and each journey to the top looks a little bit different. Feels a little bit different.
But you have to start. You have to show up.
Action, I am finding, is the only true antidote to the kind of perfectionism that stops you in your tracks. The kind of perfectionism that tells you you’ll never be good enough, or strong enough, or talented enough—so why bother?
Missteps happen. Falls happen. But then those voices that told you you couldn’t do it, that you were going to fail or make a fool of yourself are squashed when you get back up and finish anyways. Or try again next time. That’s when the voices start fading. That’s when you start to see the view instead of the climb.