A theme that’s been coming up a lot lately is this: sometimes “well done” is actually more perfect than “perfect” is perfect.
In one way, there’s a big difference between something being well done and something being perfect.
There are perfectly made beds.
There perfectly arranged salads.
There are perfectly weighed and measured out portions for meals.
There are perfect songs to listen to when you’re about to attempt your 1RM PR.
There are perfect times for difficult conversations.
There are even people that are perfect to have around in different situations.
But, those perfects become imperfect when they keep you from making progress:
When you entirely skip making your bed because you don’t have the 5 minutes it takes you to make it look completely wrinkle-free.
When you give up and just grab a bar and a protein shake because it’s faster than chopping 7 different kinds of freshly washed vegetables and figuring out exactly how many macros they’ll take up for your lunch.
When you wait 20 minutes until your “1RM PR song” comes up in the lineup on your 1RM PR Playlist.
When you keep putting off the perfectly timed and created situation for the conversation you really need to have with someone because you’re dead set that talking about it is more perfect and mature than sending them an email or calling them on the phone. You would neverrr.
And, so help you GOD if you go to that party with anyone other than the one guy at work that you really want to ask you to go with him. It’s that guy, or you’re out.
Sometimes we build things up so much in our heads that it immobilizes us from getting anything done at all.
Look, anyone who knows me well will tell you that I take perfectionism to a whole new, highly unhealthy level. But, what I’ve come to terms with in the last 4 months since my world was flipped upside down after my shoulder surgery is that things do NOT need to be perfect: my hair and nails, the way the blankets are folded, the way the kitchen looks when I leave in the morning, or what my kids are dressed like when they head out for the day.
My car, though.
I’m not there yet.
So help me God, if I find one crumb on that rug or a drip of mud on the side…I’m slipping into a seriously deep glass of wine.