No Patience

I have no patience: when I make a mistake, and I can correct it right away, I must.

If I don't, the problem will consume my mind.

I experienced this recently while editing a report for work. I became fixated on a stylistic issue, and I could not stop thinking about it.

So I opened up the document from my remote laptop and tried to correct the error. I might have been satisfied for a fleeting moment--or maybe I would have been satisfied for an hour or so--but soon enough, I would open the document again, only to find another issue that needed to be corrected (or it would be the same issue that still needs to be corrected).

So once again, I made the correction.

The problem, I have realized, is this pattern just continues to repeat itself.

I am trapped in an unhealthy cycle.

In an effort to avoid this unhealthy cycle, whenever I start to spiral, I close my eyes and imagine myself walking down a country road on a clear, sunny day. At the end of this road, which doesn't go on for that long, is a crossroads.

As I came to the crossroads, I noticed a man. He wore a long-white coat and sat on a simple wooden chair.

On the ground, next to the left side of the chair, sat a tall hourglass. I could faintly hear sand grains tumbling through.

In his left hand, the man held a harvesting scythe. In his right hand, he held a shepherd's crook.

With a commanding voice, he spoke to me: "What trouble brings you down this road."

"I am a perfectionist," I said.

The man looked me in the eyes and smiled.

"The problem you face has been troubling humanity since the dawn of time," he said. "You've come down this road because in your quest for perfection, you have become frustrated with your inability to achieve the impossible."

"What do you mean impossible?" I asked.

"You can't seek perfection," he said, rising from his throne to place his left hand on my shoulder. "For it is impossible. Perfectionism, by its very nature, is imperfect. Human beings are meant to always do better. Ergo, even a person doing something almost perfect can never be perfect, because we can always do better; we can always improve."

Suddenly, I woke up. I took one last look at my report and, just like before, saw the stylistic error. I was about to fix it, when I decided not to. My report was good enough. I can always improve, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't be okay with the work I have done.

I emailed the report to my boss and finally went to sleep, at peace with myself and my work.